


You Took My Soul (And Wiped It Clean)

by MissMarissa



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: AS IN the blake sibling meltdown does not apply, Alternate Universe - High School, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Awkward Clarke, Banter, Bellamy makes mistakes, Breaking the Fourth Wall, Cage is a fucking tool, Clarke isn't hideous, Emotional Growth, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, F/M, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, Preceded by dickish behavior, Season three Blakes not welcome here, She's All That AU, Slow Burn, Wells is the best, and LBR neither was Laney Boggs, but enjoyable tropes, fight me, fuck ton of tropes, octavia is precious and fierce, snarky bellarke
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-01-03
Updated: 2017-03-01
Packaged: 2018-09-14 08:55:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 30,341
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9172012
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MissMarissa/pseuds/MissMarissa
Summary: Cage nudges Bellamy with his elbow, "You said you wanted a challenge.Clarkeis a challenge." That's for damn sure.Bellamy relents. "Clarke Griffin. Prom queen... Six weeks."-OR-She’s All That. But like, Bellarke.  (AKA these idiots reenactMy Fair Lady).





	1. a challenge

"Was I a bet?" Pain and fury lace Clarke's words in equal measure. "Was I a fucking bet?!"

Bellamy doesn't have a response. He can't answer her hurt with anything other than stunned silence because, yeah, she was a fucking bet. 

He steps toward her with his hand out, "Clarke-" 

"Don't-” She shakes her head. “Don't fucking touch me." She jerks away from his hand like it'll burn her, and maybe she's right. He ruins things. He'll ruin her, if he hasn't already.

So, when she spins on her heel and leaves, he doesn't stop her.  He doesn't try to explain that yeah, maybe this all started out as a fucking bet, but she's worth so much more. He doesn't tell her that she's changed his world so completely, he doesn't recognize himself anymore. He doesn't tell her that she makes him want to be a better person, because clearly, he's already failed there.

He lets her go.

 

* * *

 

_[Five weeks earlier]_

Bellamy lets the car door close, sighs at the chirp of the alarm as he drops the clicker into his pocket. He takes one more deep breath before facing the pandemonium that is Arcadia High School after spring break. As if on cue, Cage and Miller show up when he rounds the corner.

Miller pulls an ear bud out, "Bellamy, you look rested."

Cage claps Bellamy on the shoulder. "Blake..." Bellamy fails to stifle the urge to physically wipe away the imaginary "ick" where Cage had put his hand, but the guy is so self-absorbed that he doesn't even notice the less-than-polite gesture. Bellamy wouldn't consider Cage Wallace a friend by any stretch of the imagination. But, they're both on the varsity soccer team, and Cage's father is a prominent figure in Kane's social groups. That means he's basically stuck with the asshole for now. "Sorry to hear about Roma, man."

Bellamy shrugs, "I'm not." He should probably be more upset that his girlfriend of two years just ditched him after hooking up with some asshole D-list celebrity on spring break. But honestly? He's fresh out of fucks to give.

Cage clicks his tongue with a hiss, "You're kidding, right? The queen of this school just dumped your sorry ass for a Real World cast member, and you're telling me your popularity isn't about to tank?" 

Bellamy stops, "Let's get one thing straight here."  He looks out at their high school population sprawled before him. He still rules this place, and if Cage thinks Roma and some dickbag TV star are going to take that away, they've all got another thing coming. "Roma is not invincible, and she's not taking me down because of this." He snorts, “And come the fuck on, it’s The Real World. Does anyone even watch that shit anymore?” He smiles when Miller grunts in amusement.

Cage shakes his head, "Roma is legendary. You lost her and you're losing this school."

Bellamy rolls his eyes, because fuck Cage and fuck Roma. Fuck this school, really. "Roma is one hundred percent replaceable. Take away all that makeup and her bitchy attitude, and all that's left is a shitty GPA in Spanx and a Wonderbra." He huffs, "She's an idea. A concept. A fantasy. Take any girl here, give her the right look, and-" he gestures toward himself, "-the right boyfriend, and you've got yourself the next Roma." He looks out at the quad, "I could turn any one of these girls into high school royalty."

Cage laughs, "Want to bet on that?"

"I'm listening."

Miller cuts in, "Alright, I really don't like where this is headed."

Cage pointedly ignores him, "You say any of these girls. How about you put your money where your mouth is, Blake." Bellamy raises an eyebrow and Cage continues, "You have to turn a girl of my choosing into, what are we calling it? High school royalty?"

Bellamy smirks, "Is there an actual challenge in there somewhere?"

Cage laughs, "Alright, alright... A challenge, huh?"  He tilts his head side to side as if to roll an idea around. "She has to make prom queen. I mean crown and all."

Bellamy halts at that. Because yeah, Roma has been a shoo-in for prom queen since kindergarten. She was born to wear that stupid crown. That's not an exaggeration - It's a fucking family legacy for her. Still, he likes a challenge. It sure as shit beats the idea of facing any number of his actual problems, like what the fuck he's going to do after graduation. Some might call this bet ambitious, impossible, and more than a little unscrupulous. But Bellamy knows what it really is. Distraction.

"Name the girl." 

Miller holds a hand up, "I'm going on record to say that I don't approve of anything that's happening in this conversation."

Cage rolls his eyes, then looks around, making a show of his search, before he zeroes in on a blonde, clad in paint-stained overalls, wild curls barely contained in a knot on top of her head, thick-rimmed glasses that probably aren't ironic, and clearly in a hurry to get somewhere. Of course, Cage would pick her, and Bellamy's already groaning before the name falls off his lips. "Clarke Griffin."

"Oh, no. Come on, anyone but Clarke." Bellamy shakes his head, "Seriously. I can work with anything else. Fat? I can handle that. Weird body? Easy." He looks across the courtyard at Clarke and scrubs a hand over his face before gesturing in her general direction, "But terrifying and untouchable? That's another story."

Cage smirks, "Looks like you've got your work cut out for you." He nudges Bellamy with his elbow, "Besides, you said you wanted a challenge. _Clarke_ is a challenge." That's for damn sure.

He relents. "Clarke Griffin. Prom queen... Six weeks." Bellamy studies the girl. "She's not bad-looking." He knows looks aren't going to be the issue. Clarke is pretty enough. If she wanted to be popular, she easily could be. But it's like the girl makes an actual effort to be unlikable.

Just as she barrels past him, something falls from her bag.  She doesn't notice and keeps walking, and well, that's as good an opening as any. He picks up the object - a paintbrush - and jogs to catch up with her. 

"Hey, I think you dropped something."

Clarke halts her steps and Bellamy circles in front of her with his trademark smirk.  She returns it with a confused stare, then looks down at his hands and her face softens with relief, "Oh, thanks." Her hands are full, so she nods toward her bag. "Just put it in there, will you?"

Bellamy smoothly tucks the brush into a pocket, and he's almost tempted to make some sort of move on her, but her seemingly permanent glare might as well be a neon-lit sign saying "Fuck off." He'll need to work on that, first.

"Clarke... Uh, hi." That's it. That's his opening line. Wow, real Don Juan here.

She huffs with obvious disdain, "Oh, god, I don't have time for this."  Bellamy can only stand there, puzzled, as Clarke sidesteps him before walking away. 

Okay, rude.

Miller sides up to him with a shit-eating grin, "That went well." He can always count on Miller to lay it on thick with the sarcasm.

Bellamy frowns, "Did I just get blown off?"

Miller laughs, "First time for everything..." He shakes his head while he heads toward his boyfriend, "Cage is right about one thing. You've got your work cut out for you." He calls back over his shoulder, "I still don't approve of any of this, by the way."

 

* * *

 

 

Bellamy walks into the kitchen and is greeted by the overwhelmingly sharp scent of nail Polish. His sister has her feet up on the island, letting the abrasively bright orange enamel dry and harden.

"Octavia, you're aware that there's a perfectly good patio outside? Where there's ventilation?"

She waves a dismissive hand, "You're aware that it's like six thousand degrees outside right now?"  She holds her foot up in the air in front of her and stretches her toes apart while she inspects her meticulously decorated toenails. "I'm already finished.  They're just drying now." 

Bellamy raises an eyebrow at her when he picks up a bottle of the polish and finds that it's not screwed shut. He twists the cap closed, "You know Nygel will blow a gasket if you spill this shit on the counters, right? This granite can-"

"-only be found in Brazil." She finishes the sentence for him.  He cracks a lopsided grin because they both know the spiel. They've endured countless lectures over the years from Kane's housekeeper. The woman is unreasonably protective of polished slabs of rock. And sure, she's right. It's expensive and hard to replace, they should respect their property, etcetera... Now that he's not eleven years old, he gets it. But as a kid, it baffled him that someone would go through so much trouble over what amounts to a bunch of rock. Given that he and Octavia can produce the lecture word-for-word from memory, the repetition was evidently effective.

While Bellamy fills his glass with ice water, Octavia snatches up the remaining jars of polish and tightens the lids, then uses her forearm to sweep them all into a floppy tote bag. "I'm heading out to meet Indra. We're having a late training session, so I won't be back for dinner."

Bellamy narrows his eyes, "Yeah, I'm sure these extra sessions with Indra have nothing to do with her hulk of a shadow." 

"His name is Lincoln, and you know that."

He scoffs, "What I 'know' is that he's too old for you, O." His use of air quotes is unnecessary except to piss off his sister.

Octavia rolls her eyes. "Whatever, Bell. Indra wants me to come in and work on shooting and passing drills. Maybe Lincoln will be there. Maybe he won't."

"I'm serious, O."

"Whatever." She levels an unimpressed glare and storms past him. She doesn't even try to make it look like an accident when she elbows him hard enough to jostle his drink. Sure, she's bent out of shape now, she'll get over it. They antagonize each other at times, but they always come full circle. He knows no matter what, they won’t stay at odds for long. They’ve been through too much for either one to give up on the other.

He hears her talking to Kane in the entryway. _Fuck_. He was supposed to be out of here before Kane got home from work. Hoping to avoid an awkward conversation about “his future,” he makes for the exit to the patio.

"Bellamy!" He freezes at the sound of Kane's voice behind him. He drops his head forward with a sigh and raps his knuckles lightly against the door frame before turning around. Kane hands him an envelope, smiling proudly at the insignia. Stanford. Dammit. Bellamy gives him a smile he hopes doesn't look guilty as he fiddles with the envelope. Kane sorts through the rest of the mail, dividing it into piles on the island where Octavia was just painting her toes.

"It's about time you started hearing back from schools." Kane's tone is casual, and thankfully not suspicious.

"Yeah, definitely." Bellamy agrees. So far, he's managed to intercept all the decision letters from the colleges and universities where he applied. He spouts off a litany of profanities in his head, chastising himself for not going through the mail earlier. His mind has been irritatingly focused on his earlier interaction with Clarke, and the whole thing has clearly got him off his game.

"Well, go ahead and open it." Kane smiles.

Bellamy nods, "Okay, yeah." He taps the edge against his palm a few times before slipping his thumb underneath the tab and tearing it open. He doesn't realize his hand has paused until Kane makes his way around the island, brows drawn together in concern. 

"Bellamy, if you didn't get in, that's okay." Kane’s authoritative-yet-reassuring tone is well-practiced as an attorney.  "Stanford is a difficult school to get into. That's why you applied to multiple universities." He smiles, "Don't be so hard on yourself, son." 

The word _son_ rings in his ears while he unfolds the letter inside. Kane adopted him and Octavia eight years ago, but it still jars him to hear someone other than his mother call him _son_ , even though she's been dead for nine years. He doesn't know if he'll ever get used to the affection attached to the term when it comes from a father figure... He doesn't mind it. Not anymore. He's not sure when that changed, either, considering that in the beginning, he had absolutely no intentions of even tolerating Kane as a parent when he hardly knew him.

When he was young, Bellamy's well-earned trust issues repeatedly put him at unnecessary odds with the man who opened his home to the Blake siblings. It was a generous act, and he eventually found himself willing to _try_ , because he knew Marcus Kane was the sole reason he was reunited with Octavia after they lost each other in the system for nearly a year. For that, he was and always will be sincerely grateful. 

Bellamy still can't bring himself to call him _dad,_ but it doesn’t bother Kane. The concept of a father figure was something so completely foreign to Bellamy in his youth that it still manages to catch him off guard.

In contrast, Octavia was only seven years old when she came to live with Kane. She was in his care for six months before they could even _find_ Bellamy. She didn't have the same resistance to embracing Kane as a parent. On her tenth birthday, she asked if it was okay to call him dad, a request that initially bothered Bellamy to no end, but he ultimately couldn't bring himself to deny Octavia a relationship he had yet to understand. Although Bellamy will forever feel the pull of responsibility for this sister, he knows Kane's presence relieved a great deal of the crushing stress he felt as a child. So yeah, he can't help but feel like he owes a lot to the guy. 

Bellamy reads the letter silently to himself to confirm that yeah, he can go ahead and add this to the pile with every other letter that has come bearing the exact same news. He does his best to look surprised by its contents. He can feel Kane's expectant stare.

"Well, what does it say?"

Bellamy clears his throat and reads it aloud.  "Dear Bellamy.  We take great pleasure in offering you admission to Stanford University's Class of 2020. Your thoughtful application and remarkable accomplishments convinced us that you have the intellectual energy, imagination, and talent to flourish at Stanford..." He trails off.

Kane claps Bellamy on the shoulder with a wide grin, "Congratulations, Bellamy, that's fantastic! I told you not to worry too much about it, I knew you'd get in. I'm proud of you."

Bellamy feels heat bloom on his cheeks at the praise. Again, something that gives him pause, but in a good way. "Yeah, Thanks." He laughs, unsure where to go from here.  "Hey, I've gotta get going. I'm meeting a friend for dinner."

Kane nods, "Go, have fun. You deserve it." Bellamy thinks that’s probably debatable, but he’s not about to argue that point. There are other, more pressing matters.

He’s got a prom queen to work on. 


	2. not a date

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "You've got a customer." Wells’ tone is calm, the perfect contrast to the tension roiling through her right now. That's how he is – the even-tempered balance to her agitation. Sometimes it’s as annoying as it is comforting… 
> 
> Clarke frowns, "Can't someone else take them?" 
> 
> He shrugs, "He asked for you, specifically." 
> 
> She cranes her neck to peek over his shoulder to catch a glimpse of the guy, and groans inwardly at the head of inky black curls that gleam in the late afternoon sun. 
> 
> "What the fuck is Bellamy Blake doing here?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> THANK YOU guys so much for all of your comments and feedback! It was really great to get such warm reception for this. Please keep them coming!
> 
> And I owe a big thank you to [Amber](http://bilexualclarke.tumblr.com) for her lovely beta work!

"What is it, Wells?" Clarke winces at the harsh tone of her own voice. Wells hasn't done anything wrong and doesn't deserve to be on the receiving end of her shitty mood.

"You've got a customer." His tone is calm, the perfect contrast to the tension roiling through her right now. That's how Wells is – the even-tempered balance to her agitation. Sometimes it’s as annoying as it is comforting…

Clarke frowns, "Can't someone else take them?"

He shrugs, "He asked for you, specifically." Wells technically doesn't even work here but he's basically always around. As such, he tends to be mistaken as a host, but never really bothers to correct anyone of it.

She cranes her neck to peek over his shoulder to catch a glimpse of the guy, and groans inwardly at the head of inky black curls that gleam in the late afternoon sun.

"What the fuck is Bellamy Blake doing here?"

"I can tell him to fuck off, if you want." 

She shakes her head and straightens her uniform, "No, I'll take care of it." She makes her way out to the dining patio where Bellamy is seated, and pauses for a few moments to try and get a read on the guy. This is the second time today he's made an effort to speak to her, and she's not sure why. He looks down at his phone and his thumbs type something quickly into the screen before he puts it back in his pocket.

"Why are you here?" She demands when she sidles up to his table. Customer service be damned.

He shoots her a smirk. "I'm in the mood for falafel balls. I hear this is the place to get them."

Clarke sighs, "Do you know what you want?"

"You know, there's a lot to pick from. Can you tell me what's on special?" Bellamy grins, and she could swear she just saw him wink. Fucking wink. She steels herself because the entire menu is ripe for mockery when it's made up of _balls._ She has to give Bellamy credit for keeping a straight face through the whole thing, and gives herself a pat on the back for writing his order down without cracking. 

She pockets her notepad. "I'll ask again, why are you here?"

He sighs, "Jesus, are you always like this?" He holds a hand up in a placating manner, since that was clearly the wrong question. "I'm just saying, does everything have to have an ulterior motive?" Clarke raises an eyebrow because the obvious answer to that question is _yes._  "Alright, fine. What are you doing tonight?"

Clarke falters a bit at that. "Why?" After a moment, "Are you thinking I'll tutor you? Is it the glasses that make me look like I'm smart, so you think I can help you? Because I'm not going to tutor you."

Bellamy chuckles, apparently delighting in the awkwardness of this situation. "Clarke, I'm salutatorian of our class."

Okay. He's not in need of a tutor. "You still haven't answered my question."

He smiles, "Maybe I just want to get to know you."

Clarke rolls her eyes, definitely not buying whatever it is he thinks he's trying to sell here. She turns on her heel and heads back inside, but not before telling him, "Your balls will be served shortly."  

She hears the low rumble of Bellamy's laugh as she heads back inside, where she's quickly intercepted by Wells.

"What was that about?"

Clarke sighs and passes the order to the kitchen, "Hell if I know.  He's sitting there asking me to hang out, like he hasn't had four years to have made that happen already? Why now?"

Wells shrugs with one of his smirks that makes her think that he knows things she doesn't. She hates that smirk. "Come on, Clarke. What's the worst that could happen?" She shoots him a glare that has no apparent effect on his optimism.  She doesn't answer, finds herself distracted by Bellamy, fidgeting with his phone and looking strangely out of his element. Wells continues, "Just give him a chance. Aren't you curious?" 

She busies herself with the plates, neatens the stacks as she considers Wells' challenge. "Even if I did say yes," She huffs, "What the hell would we even do? We have nothing in common."

"How do you know?"

Clarke grumbles, " I just do. Trust me, we do not share interests."

"If that's true, he'll have no desire to come with you to the show at The Dropship tonight."

"Hey, no, no, no, _you're_ supposed to be coming with me tonight."

Wells shrugs with a grin, "Something came up." His phone rings and he swipes his thumb across the screen to answer it. He nods toward Bellamy and mouths, "Just ask him."

Clarke gives him a level look, "Fine."

Bellamy's order slides through the opening from the kitchen, so she puts it on the tray and heads back to his table.

She doesn’t waste a second after she sets his plate in front of him. "I'm going to a thing tonight, and my friend ditched me. Do you want his ticket?" She stares him down, daring him to refuse.

Bellamy smirks and glances past Clarke’s shoulder to give Wells a nod, "What a coincidence. I'd love to." She's going to kill Wells, once she figures out why he's conspiring with Bellamy Blake.

"My shift is over at six. Meet me here and we'll walk together. "

"Wouldn't miss it."

 

* * *

 

 

Bellamy isn't quite sure how he ended up here, standing on stage at a fucking performance art venue. Not five minutes ago, he was trying to wrap his head around Clarke’s group's depiction of... birth? Maybe? Who the fuck knows... Before he realizes what's happening, Clarke is volunteering him as the next act like it's open mic night for artsy nerds. What the shit has he gotten himself into?

"Hi-" a sharp squeal of feedback pierces the air, and he hopes for a split second that the malfunction will force him off stage, but (to his disappointment), the problem resolves itself immediately. He taps the mic, "I'll try this again… Hi." He thinks he might be able to hear crickets for how quiet it is.

He fists his hands into his pockets, a nervous habit that conceals his fidgeting. He sighs with unexpected relief as his fingers roll over his hack-e-sak. Worn at the edges, patched by hand along nearly every seam, it's been his go-to since he was a child. It was entertainment while he waited for hours for his mom to pick him up after school. It was easy distraction when Octavia wanted to know why mom wasn't home yet, or worse, what she was doing at all hours of the night. It was tangible comfort when police came to collect him and Octavia the night Aurora OD'd on the job... And months later, when Marcus Kane showed up to take him in (because he may have failed his old friend, but maybe it wasn't too late to help her kids), at a loss for how to talk to the grieving eleven year-old boy, the tiny bag of beans was how they connected **.**

Even nowadays, it's an icebreaker. Except right now there's no one on stage with him, no ice to break. Just a silent and judge-y audience of hipster types and Jesus, this is all to impress a girl who he's pretty sure hates his guts. He should bow out gracefully. Except bowing out is no longer an option at this point. And _graceful_ is probably going to be out of the question after this, since he's already royally fucking it up by doing nothing up here.

So, he tosses the sack hand to hand before mixing it up with a few tricks. The crowd is somewhat mollified by his elaborate footwork as he catches it with his toe and tosses it foot-to-foot, then flips it back up again. He spots Clarke in the audience, looking not _annoyed_ , but not exactly impressed, either. So he starts talking. About nothing, really.

"Hack - E - Sak"

He tosses the object between his hands as he rolls the syllables around on his tongue.

"Hack - E - Sak."

He lets it fall to his toe again, then with a flit of his ankle, kicks it up into the air to catch it on the back of his hand. A beat comes through the speakers, punctuating his tricks, dramatizing his speech. His movements grow more complicated as the music behind him gets louder.

"Can't let it drop."  Because that's the point of the game, right?

"Never let it drop..." Never. Too much is riding on his shoulders for him to fuck up. Octavia is counting on him. She's always been counting on him.

"They're all watching. Expecting… Keep it together…" As the intensity builds, an irrational panic threatens to engulf him. His breaths speed up and his thoughts are consumed by a sudden anticipation of failure, of devastating consequences. Of what? Fuck if he knows… But they’ve both come too far for him to bail.

"One wrong move and-" The sack hits the floor and Bellamy hears nothing but the thundering beat of his heart in his ears. He huffs and looks up at the audience. He sees Clarke and he feels some kind of relief settle through him when he sees that her expression has finally lost its irritated edge. 

"Sooner or later, something has to give."

 

* * *

 

 

Clarke smiles at the excited mess of a boy next to her, still riding a high from his unexpectedly (and irritatingly) well-received performance. She would be lying if she said she wasn't trying to make a fool of him, but the joke is on her, since he basically killed it up there.

“Holy shit, that was a rush!" He practically bounces on his toes while he walks her back to the falafel bar, where her car is parked.

"I guess you were alright."

 He grins, "Yeah?"

She nods, "Yeah."

"I've never done anything like that, before. I mean, I've given speeches and shit-"

Clarke laughs, "Yeah, I think I've heard an inspirational speech or two from you before." His rousing speeches at pep rallies are stuff of legend. She's well-aware of Bellamy's ability to command a crowd.

He rolls his eyes, "Yeah, yeah, okay."

She nudges him playfully with her elbow, "I'm just saying, you like to talk."

His lips curve into a lopsided grin. "It was different up there, though."

She nods, "Yeah, when you don't have a shit clue what you're doing, it's a little scarier, huh?"

Bellamy laughs, "Something like that. It felt more... Real."

"That's one way to put it..."

They walk the rest of the way back to their cars making pleasant small talk. She unlocks her door and turns to face him, "Well, I guess this is good night."

He smiles, "Yeah. I had a good time, Clarke." She swallows back a shiver at the way her name sounds when it rolls off his tongue. "Thanks for bringing me."

She clears her throat, "Yeah, I had a good time, too." She does her best not to look the bob of his Adam's apple when he swallows, but god, it's really fucking distracting. Suddenly aware of their proximity, she takes an abrupt step back.

Bellamy rubs the back of his neck and clears his throat. "Do you want to come to the beach on Saturday?" She isn't sure if he voices the invitation as a challenge, or if she just hears it as one. Honestly, she can think of very few things less appealing than the beach, but he did just endure hours of admittedly strange performance art. 

Still, she asks, "Does it have to be the beach?"

He laughs, "Yeah. Just some friends getting together to play some volleyball." After a few seconds, he adds, "Come on, I just performed at The Dropship for you." He opens her car door and holds it while she gets in. He leans on the frame, "Give me just a few hours."

Clarke ducks her head to hide her laugh, "Alright, I'll go."

"See you tomorrow, Clarke." Bellamy taps the top of her car as she pulls the door shut.

 

* * *

 

 

When Clarke gets home, the house is empty.  It's not unusual for her mom to be gone. Abby immerses herself in work, the same way Clarke does. It's why she took it upon herself to _get_ an after-school job, despite living in Arcadia, one of the most affluent neighborhoods of Los Angeles. Being a member of the upper echelon of society doesn't mean she's above working. It looks good on a college application, and it probably builds character or something. But the truth is, staying busy lets her forget how empty her house is, helps her ignore the pain left behind by the death of her father. 

Clarke taps on Wells' number as she walks to her room.  He picks up on the second ring.

"How was it?" 

“It was good. My group nailed it.” She adds with a chuckle, “I convinced Delano to call Bellamy up for an impromptu performance.”

Wells snorts, “Poor Bellamy. How did that go?”

Clarke gives it a moment of thought before answering, “It... Wasn't what I was expecting. He was different."

"Good different or bad different?"

"Good different… He was good.” She doesn't give voice to her other thoughts. That maybe, _just_ _maybe,_ Bellamy has depth, and layers. Perhaps she could see in him a kindred spirit of sorts. She doesn't dare let herself consider the idea that she might actually _like_ the guy.

"Are you admitting that maybe you might have been wrong about him?"

She objects, "How could I be wrong about him when I haven't given him enough thought to form an actual opinion?"

"Whatever you have to tell yourself, Clarke."

She changes the subject while she dresses for bed. "He invited me to the beach this weekend."

"Are you going?"

Clarke squints at nothing, "I told him I'd come. I hate sand, and beach sports are the worst, so I'm pretty sure this will be a total disaster... But I figure he came to my weird stomping grounds, so it's only polite to return the favor." She groans as she flops back onto her pillow, "God, this is going to be a total fucking mess. Please say you'll be there..." 

Wells laughs softly, "No can do. Dad and I are flying out to San Francisco. I have to be a politician's son for the weekend."

She sighs, "Fine."

"Clarke?"

"Yeah?"

"I'm glad you had a good time tonight."

She cracks a small smile, "I guess I did." 

"Good night, Clarke."

"Night, Wells."

Later, while she lies back on her pillow, Bellamy's performance plays on a loop in her head. As she drifts off, the words lose meaning until just the memory of his gravelly tone fills her brain.

She doesn't realize until she's almost asleep that she forgot to ask Wells why he helped Bellamy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yo, Wells exists! A first for my fics. I liked how he fit into this best-friend role, and I hope you guys will like him, too. 
> 
> I wasn’t sure how this fic would be received, but I was really pleased with the feedback I got. So please, keep it coming! 
> 
> COMMENTS are cherished and seriously make my day. And if you’re enjoying this, click that KUDOS button, too :) They’re all like currency for fic authors ~ 
> 
> Last but certainly not least, **THANK YOU for reading!.**
> 
>  
> 
> **Find me on[tumblr](http://missemarissa.tumblr.com) (@missemarissa)**


	3. a trip

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "What do you say? You up for some volleyball?"
> 
> Clarke groans, "Really?"
> 
> Bellamy gives a pout, but before he can call in the _I did performance art for you_ card, she holds her hands up in surrender, "I know, I know... I put you on stage. I guess can handle a little bit of sand in repayment."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Guys! Thank you so much for your lovely feedback :) _Please_ keep it coming! 
> 
> As always, I extend a huge thank you to Amber for her awesome beta work!

When Clarke gets walks toward Bellamy's car, she looks a little... surprised. He called her ahead of time to tell her he was on his way to pick her up to give her a ride to the beach, so he’s curious about what has her so confused.

"You doing alright?" Bellamy watches her carefully while she reaches across her body to buckle her seatbelt.

She clears her throat, "Yeah. I'm good."  She chuckles, "This is really not the kind of car I would imagine you driving."

Bellamy shrugs as he pulls out of her driveway, "It's Kane's."

"Kane?"

"Yeah, Marcus Kane. He's my adoptive father."

Clarke nods with a smile, "I know Marcus. I'm just not used to hearing anyone refer to him as _Kane_." She chuckles, "I think you're forgetting, our parents are friends. Good friends, actually." She considers that for a moment. "Honestly, it's a miracle we've avoided each other for so long, considering all the galas and fund raisers they attend together."

"Let's just say, the whole gala and fund raiser thing has never really been my scene." He huffs "This whole _life_ has never been my scene." 

Clarke tilts her head, "What do you mean?" 

"I didn't grow up with all of this." He gestures at the dashboard of the car and the manicured lawns that line the picturesque streets of Clarke's neighborhood. "It was just me, my mom, and Octavia until I was ten years old."

"Octavia?"

"My little sister. She's 16 now." Clarke looks at him expectantly, waiting for the rest of the story. Which, yeah, he's surprised she gives a shit, so he continues. "We lived in Willowbrook, which is the complete opposite of Arcadia" 

Clarke's eyebrows raise to her hairline, "Willowbrook. As in _next-to-Compton_ Willowbrook?"

Bellamy nods with a huff, "That's the one." Notorious for being among the most dangerous places to live in Los Angeles, he’s acutely aware of the stark discrepancy between the living standards of his childhood compared to life in Arcadia. They are two worlds that are not meant to overlap.

"Holy shit."

He blows out a chest full of air. With the exception of Miller and Raven, Bellamy has never told anyone at school about his childhood. He's not quite sure why he feels comfortable telling Clarke. "I don't remember ever living in the same apartment for more than a few months at a time before we would get evicted or mom found a new boyfriend to shack up with."

Clarke's nods thoughtfully. "I had no idea. How did you end up here?"

"Kane. He adopted us out of the system. Well, foster-to-adopt."

Her eyebrows draw together, "No offense to Kane, but he doesn't really strike me as the foster parent type."

Bellamy laughs, "He just did it for my sister and me. He and my mom grew up together, came from lower-middle class families. After high school, Kane left for college, while Mom got pregnant with me."

Clarke nods, "So Marcus moved up in the world while your mom had a rough go of it." 

"Basically, yeah. She kind of dropped off the grid and they lost contact for years at a time, but now and then she'd get hold of him. Usually when she needed something." He shakes his head, "I remembered meeting him a handful of times as a kid, but that was it."

"Where is your mom, now?"

Bellamy's fingers trace absentminded patterns on the steering wheel. "She died when I was ten. Neither my dad nor Octavia's dad were in the picture, so we went into the system. We got separated for a while until Kane tracked us down." 

Clarke's face falls, "Jesus, they separated you? Why?"

Bellamy grimaces, "I had something of an attitude problem. I didn't get along with the first foster family we were with." He shakes his head with a sardonic laugh, "I remember being so sure that wherever I went, they would keep Octavia and I together, so I didn't give a shit what the fosters thought of me. I didn't realize until it was too late that I wasn't invincible."

"That's a really harsh way to learn that lesson."

He shrugs, "The system isn't known for its gentleness... After months of bouncing home to home, I ran."

"Why would you run? You were only a kid." 

"They wouldn't let me see Octavia. They made all kinds of promises that we'd get put back together, but never followed through.  After a while, I convinced myself that they'd lost her, and I wasn't gonna see her again unless I found her myself. So, according to my eleven-year old logic, running away was the only option."

Clarke nods, "I assume they found you, eventually?" 

"Actually, Kane did."

“How?"

"Once he found out about mom, he started the process to get approved to take us in, but it took a few months. He was able to find Octavia quickly, because she stayed with the same family since the beginning." Bellamy sighs, "I was a different story."

Clarke gives him a lopsided smile, "For some reason, I’m not surprised... What happened?"

"I essentially fell through the cracks. Their record-keeping was shit, and I'd been through at least four foster families by the time I ran away. Octavia had already been with Kane for six months by the time they tracked me down.”

“They?”

“Kane’s investigators. There was a lot of confusion at the time over where I was, and when he realized that the system had basically given up on finding me, he took it into his own hands.”

“Where were you?”

He shrugs, “Everywhere. I got caught up with some older kids I had known before mom died, who were part of… a bigger group of people, and they seemed like they could help me.”

“Like, a gang?”

“Yeah, that’s what it was. I thought if I could get money, I’d be able to make things happen, but I was eleven and angry and stupid, and more helpless than I would admit. Kane’s people found me before I could do anything truly dangerous.”

“It’s good they found you in time. And you got to be with your sister again.”

Bellamy nods, “Finally.”  

Clarke smiles, "What was that like? Seeing her after all that time?"

Bellamy grins at the memory. "It was like the world was right side up again... She'd gotten taller, so that definitely threw me for a loop." Then his face falls a little. "But I could tell, just looking at her, she had to grow up a lot while we were apart."

She frowns, "What do you mean?"

His face pinches with a grimace, "She was harder around the edges. In the time I was gone, she had to learn to basically take care of herself. The foster parents weren't exactly parental, and generally left the kids to do their own thing."

Clarke huffs, "Letting the inmates run the asylum. That's real responsible of them... So she had to be her own parent."

"Which is an unfair demand of a seven year-old." 

Clarke nods, "Really unfair."

"She'd already had a rough childhood, you know? We didn't have a lot... all the moving from place to place was hard on her, I know. But at least she was able to be a _kid_. But in those months in foster care, she'd lost that, too."

"That's really shitty."

Bellamy rubs his hand over his face, "I put her in that position. I let her down."

Clarke blinks, confusion evident, "Wait, what?"

Bellamy shrugs, "If I hadn't been such a fucking jackass with that first family, she wouldn't have been left on her own like that. She was my responsibil-"

"Are you kidding me?" Clarke interrupts.

Bellamy flinches at the sharpness in her tone and finds himself clenching his jaw on instinct. He takes a moment to gather his thoughts. Really, he didn't think he'd have to be defending himself on this, especially considering he didn't have any plans to reveal this to Clarke in the first place.

His voice is low and controlled, his words clearly enunciated. "Trust me, I know I fucked up-"

Clarke places a warm hand on his forearm, "No, Bellamy. You were a child. In no way was any of that _your_ responsibility." She shakes her head, "Jesus..." He bristles at the notion that someone else can dictate exactly what is or isn't his fault. He's been carrying this guilt around for the last eight years, thank you. Her voice softens even more, "I'm serious, Bellamy. That's not on you."

"Who's it on, then?" He clears his throat of the crack in his voice. "Whose fault is it?"

Clarke's answer is immediate, "Child Services. The Public Health Department. The adults that let you fall through the cracks. But god, it's not your fault." Bellamy doesn't really know what to say to that. No one has ever told him not to blame himself. Though to be fair, no one truly knows the extent of his self-loathing. He’s momentarily stunned by how much he’s revealed to Clarke.

He clears his throat, "Still. When Kane found me, and gave me another chance to be with my sister, it was up to me not to blow it. So, I blended in."

"Blended in?"

"Made an effort to get along with people. Got used to the extravagance. Sort of."

Clarke nods, "I get it."

He runs his hands over the steering wheel, "I still get into this car every morning and think about how the cash value of this thing could have paid for mom's apartment for _years."_

"Wow."

Bellamy shrugs with a huff, "Then I remember that mom was not the type to save that kind of money. It wouldn't have solved her problems."

Clarke straightens in her seat. "I'm sorry you went through all of that. You didn't deserve it. No kid does."

He shrugs it off, "We're in a good place now."

Clarke nods, "Sounds like it. Octavia is sixteen, But she doesn't go to Ark?"

"No, she goes to Polis Prep. It's a better fit than Ark."

Clarke hums, "She's doing well, though?"

Bellamy smiles, "Yeah. She is."

Just then, they pull into a sand-covered parking lot. He shifts the car into park and is taken aback by how much he opened up to Clarke, and even more surprised by how easy it was to do so. His hand darts to her forearm. “Hey, all the stuff I just told you – people at school don’t know that.”

Clarke nods, “Okay.”

“I’d appreciate if that didn’t get around.”

Clarke gives him a gentle smile and covers his hand with her own, “Bellamy, I would never say anything.”  

He nods, “Thanks.” She gives his hand a soft squeeze before letting go.

Clarke opens the door and squints at the warm gust of salty wind that blows in. "Was it a good idea to bring a car this nice to the beach?" 

Bellamy laughs, but her concerns are legitimate. "Don't worry, Clarke. It'll be fine."

She protests as she gets out, "But what about all the sand?"

"That's what detailing is for. Quit stalling, some people want to meet you." He insists with a smirk.

She freezes, "What people, exactly?"

"Friendly people."

She throws her bag over her shoulder and closes the door, "Why do they want to meet _me?"_

Before he can answer, Raven makes her appearance, cutting between them and nearly taking Bellamy's eyes out with her swinging pony tail as she whips around to face Clarke.

"Bellamy, who's your new friend?" Her smile is sharp but not unkind. Clarke appears more intrigued than intimidated by the fierce girl, who wastes no time introducing herself. "I'm Raven. I've seen you around Ark, right?"

Clarke tucks some fly away hairs behind her ear and nods, "Clarke. And yeah, I go to school there."

"Junior? Senior?"

"Senior."

Raven grins, "Same here. Where are you going after graduation?"

Clarke presses her lips together before she answers, somewhat stiff, "I haven't decided, yet. Stanford or UCLA, probably."

She gives Clarke a once over, "So you're one of the smart ones."

Clarke laughs, "I guess. How about you?"

Raven shrugs, "Full ride to MIT."

Clarke gapes, "You call me a smart one like you aren't leagues above the rest of us. A full ride to MIT? They give those to future rocket scientists." 

Raven grins something fierce, "Yeah, they do."

Clarke shakes her head with a laugh, "Wow."

Bellamy is sincerely glad that Clarke met Raven before the rest of his friends. Of all of them, Raven and Gina are probably the ones she'd get along with best. 

"I think I like you." Raven loops her arm into Clarke's elbow and leads her down to the beach where everyone is already setting up. She and Gina are already making conversation by the time Bellamy and Miller finish setting up the volleyball net.

"Blake, my man, what do we have here?" The hair on the back of Bellamy's neck stands on end at the sound of Cage's seedy voice.

Clarke turns to face him, and to Bellamy's delight, she immediately scowls, "I'm Clarke and I can speak for myself."

Cage backtracks with a sly grin, "That you _can._ "

Before he can say anything else, Miller cuts in, "Ignore this asshole…”

Clarke laughs, "Nathan... It's been a while."

Miller gives a nod, "Yeah, like middle school?"

"Something like that."

Bellamy narrows his eyes at Miller, "You know Clarke?"

Miller rolls his eyes, "I know people, Bellamy."

Clarke smiles at him, "Nathan and I were friends when we were kids."

Gina asks, "Oh, wow. What happened?"

Cage cuts in, standing uncomfortably close to Clarke. She backs up just slightly when he leans in, "Yeah, tell us, exactly how did Miller fuck up?" Miller snorts but seems content to let Clarke answer the question for the both of them.

Clarke shakes her head, "He didn't 'fuck up.' Nothing happened, we just kind of lost touch after boys got cooties and all that." She casually steps away from Cage to stand closer to Bellamy and he has to suppress the urge to somehow announce that he just won some silent pissing contest. He figures Clarke is probably more interested in escaping Cage, and less concerned with where she ended up. Also, he's a mature human being, and not every victory needs overt celebration.

"Are we playing some volleyball or not?" Bryan comes down the walkway, tossing a ball from hand to hand a few times before spiking it at Bellamy.

He catches it and nudges Clarke with his elbow, "What do you say? You up for some volleyball?"

Clarke groans, "Really?"

He gives a pout, but before he can call in the _I did performance art for you_ card, she holds her hands up in surrender, "I know, I know... I put you on stage. I guess can handle a little bit of sand in repayment." Bellamy smiles as she turns and walks away to where all the towels are already laid out, "I'll be right there."

Bellamy makes his way over to the net, chucking the ball up in the air while he walks. He stops at the center of the net and turns back around to face her, "You can even be on my-" His words die on his tongue because Clarke just took her shirt off and _holyfuckingshit_ her tits are amazing. She's in a one-piece suit with a neckline that's probably designed to be more conservative than it actually is. Honestly, it looks nearly obscene with the amount of cleavage she's sporting.  He just barely catches himself in time before he's actually gawking.

Clarke raises an eyebrow, "Is this okay?"

Bellamy clears his throat, "Uh, yeah."

Cage whistles, " _Damn_ Griffin... Where have those been hid-" Bellamy elbows Cage in the gut before he can finish that sentence.

Before Bellamy can do anything else, Raven throws an orange at Cage, "Stop leering, jackass."

Clarke huffs, "I can handle myself, guys." She smiles and adds, "But thanks." Bellamy realizes that, despite being extraordinarily out of her element here, Clarke can hold her own just fine. Still, he doesn't mind that she seems to gravitate a little closer to him. She leans toward him and murmurs, "Honestly, you might regret having me on your team. Beach sports are not my forte."

Gina saunters up next to Clarke right then with a beaming smile that visibly sets her at ease, "No worries, Clarke. We've got your back."

Bellamy laughs, "Come on, you can't be that bad." Clarke laughs. 

She's that bad.

Half the time the ball comes her direction, she ducks out of the way. She also manages to spike the ball straight into the net. Every single time. If it weren’t for the clear frustration on her face, he would wonder if she was sandbagging this on purpose. Bellamy stands behind her to help adjust her form and doesn't realize until too late that she smells incredible. Like coconuts and flowers and summer. She's practically plastered to his front while he cradles her elbow in his hand, and he suddenly forgets what he's supposed to be doing.

She makes a motion like she's setting an imaginary ball to spike. "Like this?"

Bellamy steps back and clears his throat, "Uh, yeah. That's good. Just keep practicing." Clarke frowns, looking somewhat confused, but thankfully Gina steps in and demonstrates a little more helpfully.

Clarke's glasses get in the way, too. She tries to take them off, but ends up squinting so much that she doesn't see the ball before it hits her square in the forehead. That's when she calls it quits and goes to sit down by Raven. Clarke chuckles at Raven's animated gestures, and Bellamy finds himself taken by the way her face lights up when she truly smiles. As the afternoon stretches on, Bellamy feels a strange sense of relief that Clarke is settling in with his friends so easily. She even starts to tolerate Cage after he dials it down a few notches.  

As everyone packs up at the end of the afternoon, Raven asks Clarke, "Are you coming to Miller's tonight?"

Clarke shakes her head, "I don't think so. I've already got plans."

Gina adds, "Clarke, it's the party of the year. His dad is gone on business, and he goes all out for it.”

Raven nudges her, “Plus, Miller hires the best DJ in LA. You have to come."

Clarke laughs, "I'll see what I can do." 

 

On the drive back, Bellamy asks, "Do you really have other plans tonight?"

Clarke settles into the seat with a sigh, "Not really, but I couldn't think of an excuse fast enough to turn down the invitation."

"Why turn it down? You should come." His tone is a little more pleading than he meant for it to be.

She shrugs, "Bellamy, I don’t go to parties like that." She huffs, “I don’t even know what I would wear.”

"That's it?"

She bristles, "That's not exactly an insignificant hurdle, Bellamy. You're aware that your friends are basically perfect human specimens? I don't know where to start to try and fit in with them."

"You fit in just fine today."

Clarke sighs, "Yeah. But that was... casual. It’s not the same thing at all."

"Alright." Bellamy wisely lets the subject drop before she gets more irritated. "Was the afternoon as unbearable as you thought it was going to be?"

She ducks her head to try and hide a smile, "It wasn't awful. I might go so far as to say it was pleasant."

Bellamy doesn't suppress his victorious grin, "I had a good time. And I'm glad you came."

"Yeah, so am I." She looks a bit surprised by her own statement.

The rest of the trip back to Clarke's house seems to go much faster than the drive this morning. As she gets out of the car, his hand catches hold of her wrist before he can stop himself.

"Clarke, for what it's worth, I think you'd do just fine at the party."

The corner of her mouth twitches with just a hint of a smirk, "If only I could do something about my wardrobe." She softens, "Thanks for inviting me this afternoon. It was... nice."

Bellamy smiles "Thanks for coming, Clarke."

She gives him a smile, "I'll see you around." Then closes the car door.

He presses the call button on his steering wheel and speaks a command. "Call Octavia."

His sister picks up, "What's up, Bell?"

He clears his throat, "Hey, O. What are you doing right now?"

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know the T-rating has kinda thrown you all for a loop, but I’m pleased so many people have given it a chance! I said before, the rating will eventually change, but for now, it’s T. 
> 
> For those of you who have seen the movie, you’ll start to notice departures from the original film over the coming chapters. I try to do throw backs to the major scenes (as I remembered them) but it’s been a long time since I saw the movie... So, if you’re looking for a scene-by-scene playback of the movie with a Bellarke “veneer” or what not, you’ll probably be disappointed. There’s plenty of similarity, but more divergence as we move forward. 
> 
> Mondays are looking like good days for updates (in terms of feedback, ayway), so I'll aim to keep posting then! Your comments are motivating and truly appreciated, so please keep them coming. And, if you could find it in yourself to click that KUDOS button, that would make my day! 
> 
> Let me know what you think :)


	4. a makeover

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> She opens the front door to find a slender brunette. She’s intimidatingly gorgeous with striking green eyes and impossible cheekbones. She watches Clarke with a calculating gaze that probably makes people squirm. The girl furrows her brows, "You're Clarke?" 
> 
> Clarke glances around before meeting the girl's eyes again. "That’s me." 
> 
> She tilts her head to the side with a thoughtful hum. "You're prettier than I expected."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all so much for your feedback :) _Please_ , keep it coming! (I’m working on finishing replies to last chapter, so if you haven’t gotten one yet, it’s on its way!) 
> 
> As always, I extend a huge thank you to Amber for her awesome beta work!

The shrill tone of Wells’ ring tone jolts Clarke from a dream. She swipes her thumb across the screen when she sees his picture on the incoming call. "Hey, Wells."  She clears her throat to chase the sleepy rasp from her voice.

He chuckles, "You alright?" 

Clarke sits up, "I just woke up." She blinks the haze from her eyelids. "I don't even remember falling asleep."

"How long were you out?"

She looks at the clock on the wall and frowns, "A little over an hour. Shit..."

Wells huffs, "You must have been tired."

She groans, "I played volleyball."

"How bad was it?"

Clarke sighs, "I'm just as terrible at it as I ever was. But, the day was good. I like his friends." She backtracks, "Well, all but one of them."

"Oh? Who's the exception?"

She grumbles, "Cage Wallace."

"isn't he Dante's son?"

"Ugh, that's him."

"Is he as unbearable as I think he is?"

Clarke snorts, "Worse. Whatever you're thinking, he's worse. How is San Francisco?"

He chuckles, "Boring."

"I'm sorry."

"I'm surviving. There are worse things in the world."

Clarke agrees, "That's true. War. Famine."

Wells adds, "Beach volleyball."

"Shit. That's a good point. That actually might be number two."

He laughs, "War, beach volleyball, then famine. Good to see where the priorities lie. What does the rest of your weekend look like?"

Clarke pauses before answering. "Bellamy invited me to a party tonight."

"Nice. Are you going?"

She sinks back into the couch cushions, "No. It’s not my scene."

"Clarke." She sighs because she _knows_ he’s got a disappointed look on his face right now.

"I don't even know what to wear at a party like that, Wells."

His voice goes unbearably gentle, "I don’t think it’s about that at all. I think you're afraid to let good things happen to you."

She grunts, "Don't go getting all deep on me. I'm far too sober for this conversation."

He hums, "The point stands. Have you considered the idea that maybe he likes you?"

"Usually when you invite someone for repeat hangouts, it implies you at least tolerate the person."

"No, I mean he _like_ -likes you."

She snorts, "Yeah, right. We're barely even _friends._ "

"I'm just saying…" he trails off.

Clarke startles at the sound of the doorbell. "Someone's here. I'll call you later, okay?"

"Sure. I still say you should go to the party."

Clarke huffs, "I'm hanging up now."

"Bye Clarke."

 

She opens the front door to find a slender brunette. She’s intimidatingly gorgeous with striking green eyes and impossible cheekbones. She watches Clarke with a calculating gaze that probably makes people squirm. The girl furrows her brows, "You're Clarke?" 

Clarke glances around before meeting the girl's eyes again. "That’s me."

She tilts her head to the side with a thoughtful hum. "You're prettier than I expected."

Clarke raises an eyebrow, "I'm sorry, who are you?"

"I'm Octavia."

"Oh." It takes a moment to register. " _Oh..._ Bellamy's sister."

The girl gives a feral grin, "The one and only."

Clarke realizes she's left the girl standing outside the door for quite a while. Rude. "Do you want to come in?"

"Yeah that'd be helpful."

"Helpful?" She asks, confused, as Octavia breezes past her.

"Where's your room?"

Clarke frowns, "Excuse me?"

"Unless you're wanting to do this in the living room. I figure your room is more convenient."

"Convenient for what?"

Octavia sighs, "I'm here because you need help with your 'hopeless sense of style,'" Clarke snorts at her unnecessarily dramatic use of air quotes. She now sees the tote hanging off Octavia's shoulder, makeup and styling products spilling over the edges. The whole thing looks so messy, she wants to cringe. Which, she knows, that’s rich coming from her. 

"Bellamy sent you?" It's less of a question than a statement, really.

"Yeah, and he'll be here to pick you up in two hours, so quit stalling. We're wasting time."

Clarke sighs and leads Octavia to her room. She gestures around, "I guess, just make yourself comfortable. I need to take a shower."

Octavia grunts, "That's a good start."

Clarke finds Octavia's blunt manner amusing and annoying in equal measure. She mumbles, "You're definitely a Blake."

Octavia makes a noise of agreement as Clarke heads to the bathroom. While she's in the shower, she deliberates whether to send Octavia home. She's irritated that Bellamy has basically backed her into a corner, despite telling him that she doesn't want to be at that party.  But then she thinks about the conversation and realizes that, at no point, did she actually say she didn't want to go. She only reiterated the issue of her fashion shortcomings. If she's being honest with herself, she kind of _wants_ to go. Maybe Wells is right. Maybe she is afraid to let good things happen. God, that's a can of worms she doesn't want to open right now... She takes a deep breath. _This is fine, Clarke. Stop fighting this for the sake of fighting..._

She emerges from the bathroom dressed in a tank top and lounge shorts, hair twisted up in a towel.

On her bed, she finds a small collection of dresses.  "Huh. I forgot I had these."

Octavia pokes her head out of the closet, "Oh, by the way, two boys are downstairs. They said you knew they were coming?"

Clarke chuckles, "Jasper and Monty. They probably came over to play video games." She momentarily feels bad for not being a better host, but that's usually Wells' thing. The boys are kind of a fixture for her weekends. Sure, they're two grades behind her, but she likes them. Monty and Jasper, their freshman year, inadvertently took the alcove where Clarke and Wells always ate lunch. Rather than kick them out, Clarke extended an invitation to sit with them, and they've latched onto her ever since.

Octavia nods, "Yeah they said something to that effect." She laughs, "You know, your closet isn't completely hopeless."

"That's good to know."

"Seriously. You've got some cute stuff in here." She adds, “That is, if I’m ignoring your impressive collection of overalls.”  Clarke rolls her eyes at the condescension in her voice.

She picks up a soft metallic gold garment by the hanger, cracks a lopsided grin at the way the light twinkles from each gem on the bejeweled fabric. She wore it to one of Jaha’s fundraisers a few months ago. It’s quite… flashy.

“Isn’t this a little much?”  

Octavia pops out of the closet. “Clarke, that whole party is going to be a little _much_. You have to dress the part.” She takes the dress from Clarke. “You need something that will be striking but understated. You don’t want to look like you’re trying too hard.”

Clarke arches an eyebrow, “And you don’t think the thousands of little gemstones are practically screaming for attention?”

Octavia shakes her head, “This is a _classy_ kind of bejeweled. Not that gaudy stretchy sequin shit.”

Clarke nods as Octavia arranges two other dresses on the mattress. “You’ll try them all on before making a decision.” Octavia tells her as she walks over to the desk, where she's already set up a myriad of beauty tools, from eye shadows to lip gloss to hair pins.  “You’re wearing glasses, but I assume you have contacts somewhere around here?”  She asks as she gestures around the room.

“What gives you that assumption?”

“I googled you. You don’t wear glasses at those fundraisers.”

Clarke nods, “Yeah, I have contacts.”

“Good. Use them. You’ve gotta lose the glasses tonight.” Octavia pulls out the chair, "Sit. We'll start with your hair." Octavia untwists the towel and tosses it toward the bathroom. It lands on the floor in a wet heap and Clarke makes a mental note to go and hang it up later. Octavia wastes no time, working her fingers into the wet strands to apply some sort of product. Clarke takes a deep breath and lets the flowery scent sweep over her senses. She watches Octavia’s hands, mesmerized by the movement of the comb as it rakes through her hair, a few shades darker in its wet state.

"I'm guessing you keep your hair up most of the time."

Clarke shrugs, "What gave that away?"

"It's a pretty obvious damage pattern. See how dry and fritzed out the front layer is? That's because it's constantly exposed to the elements." She massages some sort of cream into the offending section of hair.

Clarke nods, "Oh. That makes sense."

"You really need to do some deep conditioning." Clarke bristles at the way Octavia sighs, as if _she's_ the one who is being inconvenienced, whose privacy is being invaded or being beautified against her will... Okay, maybe she's being a little melodramatic about this.

"You know, you have a fuck ton of split ends." Octavia holds up a pair of scissors. "Trust me?"

Clarke's eyes widen. "I don't even _know_ you."

She smirks and gestures at herself, "I think my results speak for themselves."

Clarke nods slowly, "Fair point. Just don't do anything crazy."

Octavia smiles, then gets to work, perfect brows furrowed in concentration. Clarke lets her eyes drift shut to the sound of shears clipping her hair.

"My brother isn't who you think he is." Octavia's voice jars her before she can slip into a daydream.

Clarke blinks her eyes back open, "What do you mean?"

"I know he comes off as a jerk, but that's not who he is."

Clarke chuckles, "Oh. Yeah. I'll be honest, my impression of Bellamy wasn't great at first."

Octavia has a sad smile, "Just... give him some time. He's got more to offer."

"I've seen a different side of him over the past few days."

"I'm not sure how much you know about how Bell and I grew up…" She worries her lower lip between her teeth for a moment, as if she’s unsure of what to reveal. "But we're not from around here."

"I know. He was telling me a little bit about it today."

"What all did he tell you?"

Clarke furrows her brows, “He told me a bit about Marcus. He's your adoptive dad, right?"

Octavia interrupts, her tone defensive "He's my only dad."

Clarke nods carefully, "Bellamy said he took you guys in after your mom died."

Octavia stills her hands. "He told you about mom?"

"A little. You guys had it pretty rough for a while."

She nods and returns to working Clarke's hair. "I honestly don't remember it being as bad as it was, but I was really young."

"It seems like he watched out for you a lot."

Octavia nods, "He raised me."

"That's not an exaggeration, is it?" Clarke regards Octavia’s defensive body language.

"It's a fact. He thinks I don't see it, but I know how hard it was on him. I was little, so it's not like I remember that much, but still." Her mouth twists to the side, "You know what I remember most?"

"What's that?"

"I remember being happy. Not that I’m not happy now. But even then…” Her smile is wistful, “I realize _now_ , shit was rough for us. We moved all the time, and our apartments were always really run down. But I was a happy kid."

Clarke smiles, "You're lucky."

"It wasn't luck. I had Bell." Octavia says, as if that's explanation enough. Though, as Clarke has gotten to know Bellamy better, she realizes, yeah, that says everything. It wasn't luck, because _luck_ wouldn't have dealt them such a shit hand. _Luck_ gives them no credit for the hell they went through, or for the lengths to which Bellamy went for his sister.

"He still looks out for you." 

Octavia nods, "To a fault. Yeah, he does."

A silence stretches on that borders on awkwardness, so Clarke breaks it. "He said you go to Polis Prep."

"Bell didn’t want me at Arcadia High."

"Huh. He didn't strike me as the type to be embarrassed by his little sister at school."

"Oh, no, that's not it at all." Octavia shakes her head. "He didn't want me there because he despises the social scene there. Particularly the girl culture."

Clarke snorts, "Well, there isn't much to like about it."

Octavia chuckles, "He wanted something better for me, so he worked with dad, and they found Polis." She continues, "Dad and Bell like the strong academic focus and all that. Lacrosse is my game, though."

"You play?"

Octavia perks up, "I'm the best in the program." 

Clarke laughs, "You are your brother’s sister..."

Octavia smiles, "Yeah, yeah..." She clears her throat, "So. I’m trying to understand something.”

 “What’s that?”

“You have a closet _full_ of designer clothes. Like, _I_ envy what’s on those hangers.” Clarke frowns and Octavia gestures at the closet, “Herve Leger. Badgley Mischka. Zac Posen. Valentino.” Octavia gives an exasperated sigh at Clarke’s lack of enthusiasm. “Valentino, Clarke!”

She raises an eyebrow, “What are you getting at?”

Octavia rolls her eyes, “So, despite having a collection of designers that would make anyone’s mouth water, you wear… overalls. Please. Explain.”

"Utility, I guess. The pockets are the main appeal. I can keep my brushes close by when I'm painting, and store other things if I need to."

Octavia is unimpressed. "That makes you sound like a squirrel, and not in a cute way." She sighs, "I get that they're useful when you're being artsy. But you don't need to wear them all the time."

Clarke mumbles, "They're comfortable."

Octavia laughs, "Do you realize you've got an incredible figure?" 

Clarke rolls her eyes, "That's part of the reason I _started_ wearing loose clothes."

Octavia draws back, "So you're hiding all this-" she gestures broadly up and down Clarke's body, "-on _purpose_?"

"You try being eleven years old and having to wear an actual bra," Clarke snaps. "Or having grown men leer at you because the shirts that all the other girls wear barely cover your boobs."

Octavia holds up a hand, "I didn't mean to upset you. It makes sense, though. It's kind of a protective thing."

Clarke shrugs, "Having a curvy figure brought unwanted attention when I was younger. I guess when I got to the age when I could have appreciated it more, I had other stuff going on."  Other stuff, like the world falling to pieces around her when her dad died...

"I get it." Octavia smiles. “Maybe it's time for a change."

Clarke takes a deep breath and nods. "Alright. Let's do it."

* * *

 

When Bellamy gets to Clarke's house, he's not totally sure what to expect. He hasn't gotten any angry calls or texts from her, and since Octavia's car is still here, he assumes Clarke didn't kick her out. He knows it was a risk, sending Octavia, but he really needs Clarke at this party. When she declined the first time, he was going to let it go. Really. This afternoon was good, and he genuinely enjoyed their time together. But then Cage sent him a text, something about condolences that Clarke wouldn't be at the party... So obviously, Bellamy needs her to be there, if for no other reason than to prove Cage wrong.  Really, this is the perfect opportunity to introduce the school's population to the softened, more approachable version of Clarke Griffin. Someone they'd vote in as prom queen.  

His stomach churns a bit when he thinks of the bet. It was one thing when Clarke was a concept. Before he started to get to know her. Over the last few days, he's realized that remaining detached may prove to be difficult. He finds he actually enjoys her company, and thinks maybe she might feel the same way. And that makes him feel like all kinds of shit. 

He knocks on the front door and it's opened by a gangly-looking boy with a goofy grin and obnoxiously out-of-place goggles on his forehead. 

"Whoa..."

Bellamy laughs to himself because this kid is half baked. "Is Clarke here?"

"You’re Bellamy Blake." The kid calls over his shoulder, "Monty! Quick, get over here!"

Another guy's voice - Monty's, he assumes - comes from down the hall, "What is it, Jasper?" He freezes in place when he sees Bellamy at the door. "Whoa..."

It is painfully obvious how high they are.

"So the hot girl really _is_ Bellamy Blake's sister." Monty whispers at Jasper, completely ignoring the inquiry about Clarke.

Jasper nods, "I thought she was just telling us a story to get us to go away. Who knew he had a sister?"  he whispers conspiratorially, "We need to adjust our data."

Bellamy chooses to ignore that last bit and waves his hand in their field of view, trying to catch their attention, because it seems to be all over the place. "Is Clarke here?"

"Yeah, she's upstairs..." Monty tells him, giving him a curious once-over.

"Okay, can I come in?"

The boys jump to the side, "Totally, yes. I mean, yeah. Definitely."

Bellamy texts Octavia, which in hindsight, he should have done before. 

**_I assume you're alive up there and Clarke hasn't killed you._ **

He gets a text back

**_Maybe. Or maybe clarke is using the phone to buy time and get rid of the body._ **

**_This is clarke btw_ **

**_Octavia's hands are occupied._ **

Bellamy laughs while he taps out a response

**_Got it. So if you haven't killed O, does that mean you're not gonna kill me either?_ **

The message back is immediate

**_It means no such thing. Make your peace with god, Bellamy._ **

Bellamy smiles.

**_Noted._ **

Clarke sends a message from her own phone.

**_I like your sister better than you. I think I'll keep her. She says she would never have made me play beach volleyball._ **

Bellamy snorts.

**_But would she have done performance art for you?_ **

He knows Octavia would die before being seen at The Dropship.

**_She says hell no_ **

Bellamy replies with a quiet laugh.

**_So you should keep me, then._ **

He's relatively certain Clarke is rolling her eyes when she messages back.

**_I'll consider it. Did the boys let you in?_ **

Bellamy looks over at the couch, where said boys are high-fiving each other. Monty gets up and brings a plate of brownies, offering it to Bellamy.

**_Yeah. Now they're trying to feed me._ **

Her message back has a frantic vibe.

**_Oh god, do NOT eat anything they give you!_ **

His smile is lop-sided.

**_I wasn't planning on it._ **

He thinks maybe he heard a crash upstairs. He considers investigating, but it's not his house, and Clarke still kind of intimidates him. So really, he'd rather not cross her. Instead, he browses the photographs that line the walls of a hallway. He pauses to look at a black and white image of Clarke, looking startlingly different from her persona at school. It’s kind of a three-quarter profile, and she’s looking at something in the distance. Her hair is down, messy in that attractive kind of way. The smile in her eyes is matched by the upturned corners of her mouth. She’s _happy_ , and he feels an unexpected tightness in his chest when he realizes he’s never seen her look like this. He can’t help but wonder why the light in her eyes has all but extinguished.

**_Octavia says I have to put the phone down, now. Have to get dressed. Be down soon._ **

He fidgets with his phone for a while after that, but finds himself listening in on Jasper and Monty's conversation. Honestly, he can't even consider it to be eavesdropping when they've made no effort to actually be quiet in their discourse.

"…Taking into account the sister situation, how likely is it that he spent a year in juvie?"

Monty concurs, "You make a good point. Same thing with being lost on a tropical island. The amnesia scenario is still on the table, though."

“Absolutely.”

Bellamy cracks a smile. He's perfectly aware of the rumors about him that fly around the school. Some of them get really colorful, such as being the product of a government experiment.  He knows for a fact that Miller propagates the most outlandish ones, partly to be an asshole, but mostly because he's the one of the only people in the school who actually knows Bellamy and Octavia's story. Bellamy’s past is complicated. He’s not particularly fond of the idea of airing his dirty laundry for his peers... Miller tends to steer the gossip away from things resembling the truth.

He puts his phone away when he hears Octavia's voice come from the stairs, beckoning Clarke to follow her. He waits with Jasper and Monty at the bottom of the stairs. After standing there for nearly a minute, Octavia cranes her neck in search of her makeover project, who has yet to show herself.

She calls out, "Clarke Griffin, get down here, _now._ "

He cracks a grin at Clarke's irritated grumble, "I'm coming, but these heels are going to kill me, Octavia."

When she comes into view, his brain just sort of short-circuits. Because holy shit... She's beautiful. Not hot. Not fuckable. Well, yes to both of those things. But really, the word that fits best is _beautiful_. Her hair is down and falls in soft waves down her back. The dress she wears comes mid-thigh. If he had to name a color, he’d probably say something along the lines of “champagne,” and as she comes closer, he can see the shimmer of tiny gems that cover the material. Octavia picked well, and he gives her a subtle nod to tell her as much.

"Holy shit!" Jasper gapes from beside him. The goggled kid lodges an elbow in his side, "Bellamy, look at Clarke."

Bellamy grins, rubbing the sore spot on his ribs, "Yeah. I see her."

Clarke gives a nervous smile while she blows a stray hair out of her face and announces herself with a feeble attempt at sarcasm. "Ta-da..." She carefully descends the staircase, still a little wobbly in the tall shoes she's wearing. With painful predictability, she loses her footing and nearly wipes out as she reaches the bottom of the stairs, but Bellamy sweeps forward and catches her before any damage is done. She rights herself with a shaky laugh, "I told Octavia these heels were going to kill me."

He shakes his head with a smile, "I'll be here all night to catch you."

Clarke gives him an unimpressed stare. "Wow, that's some sappy bullshit..." He's a little caught up in the sparkle in her eyes as she teases him. The absence of her glasses is almost jarring. Now that they're gone, it's like a curtain has been lifted.  He can see that the striking blue color of her eyes is downright breathtaking. Bellamy lets his eyes travel an appreciative path over the rest of her. Her dress hugs every one of her curves like a glove. It's distracting, really. It’s perfect.

"Well? You're being awfully quiet." She gives a nervous laugh. "I can't tell if that's a good thing or a bad thing."

He clears his throat, "Fuck-" 

Octavia sidles up to Clarke and adjusts the sleeves on the dress to accent the line of her shoulders. "Trust me, Clarke. It's a good thing." She bumps her brother with her elbow, "I can't remember the last time Bellamy was at a loss for words."

Clarke's lips quirk up at the corners, "Then I guess I owe you a thank you, Octavia."

Octavia smiles, "I did a damn good job. You look fucking gorgeous."

Monty and Jasper voice their agreement as they come up to see Clarke, regarding her like an exhibit in a museum. Bellamy isn't totally sure how much of their odd behavior is a result of being high as hell or if it's just part of their personalities, but he can see how they’ve endeared themselves to Clarke.

Bellamy quirks an eyebrow, "Shall we?" 

Clarke nods with a deep breath, "I'm in." 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So. Random fact. Back when I was researching/plotting this fic, I looked up various socioeconomic facts on Los Angeles and the surrounding neighborhoods. I was pleased to find that not only does Arcadia, CA _exist_ IRL, it is among the most obnoxiously wealthy neighborhoods in the city. Which, yeah that fits precisely with what I need… 
> 
> Next up: Party time ;) 
> 
> As always, COMMENTS and KUDOS are like fuel for fic writers – please, please keep them coming!


	5. a party

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bellamy feels a smile settle on his face when he sees Clarke dancing, carefree and happy between Raven and Gina. Octavia’s makeover did its job and she's hot as hell. The entire party has taken notice of the stunning blonde, and he should be reveling in his success. But he has a feeling that the lightness in his chest is due to something else entirely.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you guys so much for your comments last chapter ~ Please keep them coming! 
> 
> Also, a big thank you to Amber for being such a kickass beta!

On the drive to Miller’s party, Clarke tries to justify to herself why she's nervous about going to a high school party. She accompanies Wells to political events all the time. Despite her disheveled appearance and awkward mannerisms at school, she knows how to carry herself in the spotlight. But that's just the thing. She's under a whole different kind of scrutiny tonight.

As a general rule for High School, she avoids the popular clique like the plague. She won't kid herself. The feeling is mutual. In a particularly humiliating incident freshman year, Roma and her crowd made it painfully clear that she was not welcome to associate with them. To this day, Clarke isn't sure what she did to set Roma off. Eventually, she moved on to other victims and Clarke became invisible, which was a welcome alternative.

Clarke has no interest in popularity contests. If she wants to surround herself with self-absorbed assholes, she'll attend one of Jaha's benefits. Her skin crawls just thinking about the way Roma and her lemmings _still_ dominate the hallways, mowing down anyone in their way. Seriously. Just a few weeks ago, Clarke helped a kid pick up an entire binder's worth of loose-leaf notes after one of Roma's girls smacked it out of his hands because he made the grave mistake of not getting out of their way quickly enough. Clarke doesn’t understand the mentality of the stereotypical girl-on-girl hate that Roma seems to espouse. What is the actual point of hating someone else that much? But, if faced with the option of delving further in to Roma’s motives or continuing about her day in peace, Clarke will take the Roma-free option.

Despite being bullied by Roma in the past, Clarke doesn't actually know a lot about her. She knows that she's Bellamy's ex. Thanks to their generous PDA policy, the entire school was aware of their relationship for the past two years. Clarke recently heard something about a nasty breakup that left Bellamy a heartbroken mess, but she thinks that's debatable. Yeah, he's kind of a mess, but it seems like it has very little to do with heartbreak.

"You doing alright?" Bellamy's deep voice jars her out of her thoughts.

She smiles, "Yeah, I'm fine." 

"You zoned out on me, there." He chuckles.

"Sorry about that. I'm just kinda lost in thought, that's all."

"What has you thinking so hard?"

Clarke feels a little awkward, but answers truthfully. "Roma, actually."

Bellamy's face twists into a scowl. "My ex?"

She nods, “Yeah. Just... It's her crowd that comes to these kinds of parties. And those people are largely why I avoid them."

Bellamy gives an understanding nod. "I get what you're saying." After a moment, "Not all of them are bad, though. I mean, you met Raven and Gina."

"They’re different."

"You wouldn't have known that if you hadn't been with us at the beach this afternoon."

She shrugs, but doesn’t disagree. 

He smiles, "So, you don't know how many other people are being misjudged just because of association with Arcadia High's she-devil."

Clarke snorts at the well fitting moniker. "You make a good point."

"So, give them a chance." He adds, almost as an afterthought, "And, just avoid Roma. Because she's… yeah."

She gives Bellamy a thoughtful look, "You don’t seem to like her at all.”

He huffs, “You could say that… It’s complicated?”  

“Why were you with her for so long?" She asks, because really, it’s baffling that they were together to begin with. Roma seems nothing like Bellamy. She’s momentarily startled by the fact that up until a few days ago, she considered them both to be made for each other – shallow, conceited, and generally awful.

"Honestly, it was easier to give in. She's relentless when she wants something."

"And she wanted you."

Bellamy nods, "Until she didn't."

Clarke chuckles, "Aren't you supposed to be a lot more torn up about being dumped?"

"Oh, do I not look heartbroken enough?" He clutches dramatically at his chest. "How _ever_ will I go on? How, Clarke?" 

She laughs, "Okay, point taken."

Bellamy pulls to a stop in front of Miller's mansion, then comes around and opens Clarke's door for her. He tosses the keys to a valet attendant.

"God, he has valet?" Clarke gapes.

Bellamy chuckles, "Why wouldn't he?" His cheeky tone tells her that yes, he agrees that it's excessive, but that's a fact of life for the wealthiest residents of Arcadia. Considering that Clarke is one of them, she really shouldn't be surprised.

Bellamy's hand is warm on the small of her back as he guides her through the oversized front doors. The party is already in full-swing inside. She recognizes some of the kids who spill out into the hallway, and tries not to feel a bit self-conscious at their double-takes while she walks past.

Clarke studies the surroundings. “I don’t know Nathan _well,_ but he never struck me as someone who would throw a party so… extravagant.”

He chuckles, “Call it a joint effort.”

“Joint with who?”

“Gina and Raven, mostly. They call the shots, he just provides the venue.”

She nods, “That makes more sense.”

She glances around when she and Bellamy make their way into what is probably a living room most days. The sleek furniture is arranged so that the center is cleared for a dance floor. Lights skip along in mesmerizing patterns on the floor and walls. A throng of bodies moves against each other to the beat of the music coming from every corner. The DJ is set up on a balcony that overlooks the space. She sports a striking face tattoo that curves above her eyebrow, down her nose, then curls around her cheekbones with a swirl pattern.

Bellamy catches her staring, “That’s Emori. And the guy behind her is John.” 

Clarke nods, “She’s pretty. I like her ink.”

He raises an eyebrow, “You like tattoos?”

“I’m an artist. Is it really that shocking?”

He gives her a lopsided smile, “You just don’t strike me as the type, that’s all.” 

She smirks with a sudden bit of flirty inspiration and leans close to whisper in his ear, “Remind me to blow your mind later.” She feels a stab of satisfaction at the choked sound he makes, and notes his intrigued grin in the corner of her vision as she turns to face the swarm of partiers.

Bellamy's breath tickles her neck when he leans close, "There's Raven."

Clarke smiles when she sees Raven, who is already a little bit tipsy. She gives Clarke an approving once-over while she takes one hand and spins her around. "Damn, girl. You clean up nice." Her smile is warm and inviting, if not a little flirty, and Clarke instantly feels more at ease.

She jumps in surprise as Gina pops up from behind her. "Clarke, honey, you look amazing!" She looks up at Bellamy, “Isn’t she stunning?"

Clarke's heart races something crazy under Bellamy's intense gaze. He smiles, "She's beautiful." Warmth floods her body when Bellamy pulls her close and presses his lips to the side of her head. Her skin jumps under Ravens wandering fingertips as they float over her torso. The alcohol seems to have made her quite handsy. Not that Clarke is complaining.

Raven shouts over the music, "Bellamy, we're stealing your girl." Clarke falters a bit at the title, because she knows it isn't true. She's not Bellamy's "girl." She doesn't even know that she would want to be. Would she?

Bellamy's fingers flit down the inside of her forearm until he reaches her hand. He gives it a quick squeeze with an encouraging smile, "Go have fun, Clarke. You deserve it."

Clarke nods in something of a daze and gives Raven a smile as she and Gina lead her into the crowd of swaying bodies.

 

* * *

 

 

Bellamy feels a smile settle on his face when he sees Clarke dancing, carefree and happy between Raven and Gina. Octavia’s makeover did its job and she's hot as hell. The entire party has taken notice of the stunning blonde, and he should be reveling in his success. But he has a feeling that the lightness in his chest is due to something else entirely. 

His good mood comes to a screeching halt when he sees Cage make is way over. Drink in hand, his voice is loud. "Holy fuck, Blake.” He nods over toward Clarke. "How the hell did you pull that off?"

Bellamy rolls his eyes, "Fuck off." He takes a sip of his drink, "I told you I'd do it." Looking at the way the crowd is fixated on her, he can see that it has been a wild success so far. Bellamy takes satisfaction in the Cage’s obvious unease.

"As far as I'm concerned, you haven't delivered until she's wearing that crown." 

Bellamy smirks, "I'm confident in my investment."

Bellamy's attention is diverted from Cage's goading when Roma stumbles in with her new boy toy in tow. Bellamy _almost_ feels bad for her because the new object of her affection isn't even subtle about checking out every female in attendance. By the time she reaches Bellamy, TVGuy has already wandered off. She reaches her hand out to feel for him, and Bellamy sees the split second of panic in her eyes when he's not within arm's reach. She glances behind her and Bellamy has to laugh at her frustrated whine when she realizes he's nowhere to be seen.

Roma turns back to face Bellamy and flips her hair to the side. "He had to take a phone call from his agent." She shrugs, "You know how it is with celebrities, right?" Her face splits in a false smile, "Oh wait, no. You don't." 

He gives her an unimpressed glance, "Is that the best you've got?"

She glares, "Jump up my ass, Bellamy."

He huffs and casually leans back on the balcony railing. "No thanks. Been there, done that." He nods down at the patio, where TVGuy is chatting up a very tipsy girl. "You think his phone call is over?"

Roma narrows her eyes, "I need to go take care of something."

Bellamy smiles, "Good luck with that." He watches her exasperation with vindictive amusement. He heads back over to the bar and orders a water. When he gets back, Roma is no longer harping on TVGuy. In fact, she's nowhere to be seen. He glances downstairs at the dance floor, where Roma is closing in on Clarke.

"Oh, fuck."

 

* * *

 

 

Clarke closes her eyes and tosses her head back, letting her senses absorb everything around her. The music fills every corner of the room as she sways her hips to the beat that thrums through her. The fabric of her dress slides along her skin with every twist of her body as she moves to the music.

"I'll be right back!" Raven tells her over the noise. "Restroom!" 

Clarke chuckles, "Okay, I won't go anywhere." She looks around for Gina, and cracks a grin when she sees the curly haired girl dragging a guy off the dance floor to a presumably more private destination. 

"What the fuck are you doing here?"

Clarke freezes at the sound of Roma's voice. She turns around to see her standing there, flanked by Bree and some other girl. 

"Are you talking to me?" 

Roma scoffs, "I’m looking at you, aren’t I?”

Clarke just frowns, “It appears you are.”  

“I’ll ask again, what do you think you’re doing here?”

Clarke shrugs, "Dancing?" She looks around her and sees that everyone else has, in fact, stopped dancing.  And not a familiar face is in sight.

"Are you lost? Who the hell let you in?"

Clarke straightens her posture as she takes a few steps away from the advancing girl, "I was invited." 

"Is that right?" Roma sneers.

Clarke rolls her eyes, “Fuck this.” She moves to leave. The sooner she can find someone she knows, the sooner she can get the hell out of here. After two steps, Roma sticks a foot out to trip her. Clarke catches herself, just in time to feel the splash of icy liquid as the front of her dress is soaked in Roma's drink.  The acidic scent of cranberry curls in her nose and she fights a full-body shiver as the cold liquid soaks through to her skin.

Roma cocks her head to the side as she flicks the remaining drops from her glass at Clarke, "You know, you should really be more careful."

Clarke takes a deep breath and exhales slowly through her lips.  "You know what?"  She smiles dryly.  "Thank you." 

Roma raises an eyebrow, "For what?" 

"For reminding me exactly why I avoid you people."

Roma laughs, then forms a pitying expression, "Oh, honey. No... _We_ avoid _you_. If you think for a second that-"

"Roma!" Bellamy's voice echoes through the space, especially loud now that the music has stopped. "What the fuck is your problem?" 

She snorts while Bellamy makes his way over. "Just taking care of the riff raff." 

Clarke tries to feel relief when Bellamy reaches her side, but his presence just reminds her that he's the reason she's in this situation to begin with. She turns on her heel, unwilling to listen to Roma berate her further. She may not put a lot of weight into Roma’s opinion of her, but she doesn’t see the point in sticking around to listen to it all. She vaguely hears Bellamy asking her to slow down while she picks up speed toward a set of doors on the far end of the courtyard. When she's finally out of everyone's view, she comes to a halt and bends over, catches herself with her hands on her knees. Bellamy's hand is warm where he rubs circles into her back with his thumb. 

"Clarke, talk to me."

She shakes her head, lets the cool air fill her lungs with a deep breath. "I shouldn't have fucking come. I don’t belong here." 

Bellamy sighs and crouches down in front of her. "Don’t say that."

She levels him with a glare. "Fuck you. You're the one who brought me here."

Bellamy nods, "Yeah, okay. That's true."

Clarke scoffs as she stands up straight. "This was a mistake." 

"Hey, we had a good time, today. Earlier? At the beach? That was good. That wasn't a mistake." She shrugs but doesn't say anything. He tucks a stray hair behind her ear and repeats, "We had a good time today." She lets him pull her side against him, sighs as his arms wrap around her frame. "With Raven and Gina and Miller and Brian?" 

She nods, "Yeah." 

"That was good." He turns her in his arms so she faces him. "Sometimes when you open up to people, you risk letting the bad in with the good."

She looks him in the eye for a long moment. "How do I know it's worth the risk?"

He quirks a small smile and her eyes catch on his lips. She quickly looks back up, only to see his eyes are fixed on her mouth. She vaguely registers herself swaying forward, like some part of her knows he’ll catch her.

"Hey is Clarke-" Miller's voice startles her back to reality and she jumps away from Bellamy.

"I'm fine, Nathan," she calls out.

"Are you sure?" Concern is clear in his tone. 

Deep inside, Clarke cracks the smallest of smiles, because yeah, Bellamy was right. The day wasn't a total waste. She got to know some good people, Miller being one of them. She's glad about that.

"I'm sure." She's grateful that he doesn't push it.

"I'll leave you two alone.” He adds, “Just so you know, Roma’s gone, if you wanna come back inside." 

"Thanks, Miller." Bellamy says as his friend departs.

After they're alone again, Clarke slumps against Bellamy, "Can you just take me back home?"

He nods," Yeah. I can do that." 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Girl hate is fucking exhausting and stupid… To counteract its presence in this fic, anticipate lots of girl-on-girl bonding and validation everywhere else I can fit it in ;) 
> 
> For the person who thinks Bellamy has had an unfair amount of exposition and Clarke’s background is being left out (*Ahem* I’m talking to you, tumblr anon), that’s true… All I can tell you is to have some patience... Bellamy’s story has been what’s fit and flowed smoothly in the narrative so far (but also, we’re only like 14k words in anyway)? So, calm your tits, loves. For those of you wanting to know more about Clarke, we finally switch gears a bit after this chapter to a bit more Clarke-centricity, so that’s something to look forward to :) 
> 
> As always, thank you guys so much for your **COMMENTS** and **KUDOS**!!! It’s so motivating to have just a few words that tell me you guys want another chapter next week. (Seriously, that’s the only reason I’ve remembered to post every week – the comments roll in and they serve as this awesome motivational kick in the butt for Monday mornings :) So keep them coming! 
> 
> I’m on tumblr!


	6. an appeal

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Just as Clarke sits down at her usual table for lunch, she’s unexpectedly joined by Raven and Gina, who drop their trays onto the table across from her as they take their seats. 
> 
> Raven smiles, “Hi, Clarke.” 
> 
> Clarke gives them a sidelong glance. She wants to ask if maybe they’re lost and need direction back to their own table, but she’s pretty sure that question would sound rude no matter how she phrased it. So instead she goes for a normal greeting. “Hey, how are you guys?” There. That was pleasant. 
> 
> Gina answers, “I’m fine, but I think the question is, how are _you_?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this particular chapter is unbeta'd because I did not get my ass in gear this weekend, but still giving a shoutout to [Amber](http://bilexualclarke.tumblr.com) because she still kicks ass. And thank you [Maggie](http://bellohmyblake.tumblr.com) for being a cheerleader while I was stuck on a spot in this chapter :)

 

Just as Clarke sits down at her usual table for lunch, she’s unexpectedly joined by Raven and Gina, who drop their trays onto the table across from her as they take their seats.  

Raven smiles, “Hi, Clarke.”

Clarke gives them a sidelong glance. She wants to ask if maybe they’re lost and need direction back to their own table, but she’s pretty sure that question would sound rude no matter how she phrased it. So instead she goes for a normal greeting. “Hey, how are you guys?” There. That was pleasant.

Gina answers, “I’m fine, but I think the question is, how are _you_?”  

Clarke shrugs, “I’m fine.” Raven and Gina glance at each other before looking back at Clarke. She rolls her eyes, “Really. If you’re asking whether I’m like, traumatized by Saturday or whatever, I’m not.”

Raven nods. “Okay. Good.”

“I’m really sorry you were on your own out there, Clarke.” Gina adds, “I didn’t even know what had happened until after you had left.”

Clarke swallows a bite of her sandwich and shakes her head, “It’s not like it’s anyone’s job to protect me.”

Raven snorts, “Anyone could use protection from Roma. We should’ve stuck together.”

Clarke smiles, “I appreciate the sentiment, really, but it’s fine.” She gestures between the girls, “I thought you guys were friends with Roma.”

Gina laughs out loud, “Oh god…”

Raven finishes, “We’re friends with Bellamy. Roma was just part of that package for a while.”

Clarke nods, “Oh. I just… assumed. You guys ate lunch together a lot.”

Gina clarifies, “No, she ‘tolerated’ us because we’re Bellamy’s friends. She made the distinction very clear.”

“What distinction?” Clarke asks.

Raven smirks, “That we weren’t _her_ friends, only Bellamy’s. She always kept her cool with us when we were all around Bellamy, and never made a scene, so to the naked eye, I guess it looked like we were all tight.”

Gina adds, “She knew Bellamy would drop her in a heartbeat if she made things difficult for his friends.”

Clarke nods as she takes another bite of her sandwich, chewing it as she mulls over the information.

“What about you, Clarke. Who is it you’re always sitting with over here?” Gina asks. Clarke sees Raven in her periphery shooting Gina something like a warning glare before she schools her expression into neutrality.

She ignores Raven’s peculiar look and answers, “Wells. He’s on his way back from San Francisco, so that’s why he’s not here.”  

Gina asks, “He’s Jaha’s kid, right? The guy running for senator?”

Clarke nods, “That’s the one.”

Gina hums, “Well, that’s interesting.”  

Raven nudges Gina with her elbow and changes the subject. “You were in AP Chem with me, weren’t you?”

Clarke nods, “I might have been.”

Raven points her fork, “No you definitely were. You sat in the back, I remember.”

“Yeah, that sounds about right.” Clarke chuckles.

Gina smiles, “Forget school. What do you do for fun?”

Clarke twists her mouth to the side, “Well, I like art.”

“Nice, what kind?” Raven asks with a grin.

“Painting and drawing, mainly. But I kind of dabble in everything.”

Gina raises her eyebrows, “Is there anything we can see?”

Clarke shrugs, “I’m finishing my senior project in the next few weeks, so people can see it then.” She chuckles, “I don’t like, keep my canvases in my bag or anything. Just my sketch book.” She nods at the spiral-bound book of sketch paper, but puts her hand over the cover before anyone can reach for it. “I don’t really show that to people, though.”

Raven smiles, “Fair enough.” She nods at Clarke’s phone, “Hey, let me give you my number.” Clarke nods and hands it over after unlocking the screen. Raven adds, “I’ll put Gina’s in, too.”

Clarke peeks over where Raven is typing. “If you guys just send yourselves texts from there, you’ll have my number.”

Gina smiles as Raven does exactly that, checking her phone after it chirps. “Yup, there it is.”

Just as they finish up their lunch, the bell rings for the next class. Her lunch companions pick up their trays and offer to take Clarke’s, which she’s happy to let them do.

Gina gives Clarke a warm smile, “It was nice seeing you, Clarke.”

Raven nods, “Yeah, what she said.”  

Clarke chuckles, “Yeah, it was nice talking with you guys.”

“Don’t be a stranger.” Gina tells her as they part ways.

Clarke looks at her phone contacts as she walks to class and grins at Raven’s self-entry: A bird emoji followed by “Raven” in parentheses, and entered Gina’s as _Gina_ with an alien emoji.  

She types out a text to both of them: **_Why is there an alien behind Gina_** ** _’s name in my contacts?_**

A few moments after, Gina messages: **_haha, my name_** ** _’s Martin. Raven likes to call me martian. Inside joke._** Clarke cracks a smile, because she isn’t in on many inside jokes that aren’t her own.

She grins while she types a reply. **_Cute. Thanks for today. It was nice._**

Raven replies quickly: **_You_** ** _’re alright, Griffin._**

A few seconds later, Gina texts back: **_Any time, hon. Love your shoes, btw._**                 

Clarke glances down at her impractical-but-cute wedges with a smile. If she walks to class with an extra bounce in her step, that’s her business.

 

 

"I'm sorry the party sucked." Wells tells her as they walk into class the next day.

"It wasn't your fault."

"I wanted you to go."

“Not all of it sucked." It’s true. Even if it ended on something of a somber note, the rest of the evening was enjoyable. She sighs, "Let's just drop it?"

Wells gives her a look she can’t decipher, then nods. "Fair enough."  He wasn’t at school yesterday and she felt his absence acutely. Although, she did appreciate the opportunity to get to know Raven and Gina a little better. Thankfully, there was no drama left over from the weekend, but the lack of Wells’ safety net still put her slightly on edge.

A screech comes through the PA system, followed by a voice that is far too jovial for school announcements.

"Good morning Arkadia High! It's Tuesday, and you know what that means!"

Another voice joins in, equally as nauseating and chipper, and they announce in unison "Time for your Prom Court nominees!" 

Clarke rolls her eyes and drops her forehead on her desk, cradling it in the crook of her elbow. "Wake me before class starts," She mumbles to Wells, who grunts in acknowledgement.  They list prom king nominees, and Clarke is unsurprised to hear Bellamy’s name squealed excitedly by one of the announcers.

After that, "Your nominees for Prom Queen are Roma Bragg, Bree Ellison, and who-" Clarke rolls her eyes at their confused whispers, because come on, how hard is it to read shit off a piece of paper?  "-And Clarke Griffin?" Her head shoots up and she glances around the room. She voices the question everyone has to be thinking.

"Who the hell nominated _me_?" 

She hears Wells chuckle behind her, "Looks like you made quite an impression."

Clarke shoots him a glare, "It's not funny."

Wells holds both hands up in surrender, "Shutting up, now."

Before she can say anything else, the teacher claps her hands for their attention and begins roll call. Class is tense and by the time the bell rings, she comes up with no less than six ways to bring Bellamy's life to a painful end. After she gathers her things, she exits the classroom and makes a beeline for her locker. As she deposits her books into the compartment, she breathes a sigh of relief because she has art next period. She needs art. She needs the blessed distraction of her canvas. After one more deep breath, she shuts her locker door and turns around to head for the studio. To her left, Roma is marching her direction, fury bursting from every one of her perfect pores.

She mutters under her breath, "Fuck that," and takes a sharp right. Straight into Bellamy's chest. His very firm, muscled chest. She shoots him a scowl, " _You_."

He smirks, "Nice to see you, too. Where's your next class?"

"Art wing."

"I'll walk you there."

She scoffs, "No, I think you've done enough."

He sighs and glances over his shoulder, "Listen. Roma is on the warpath, and-"

Clarke hisses, "Yeah, thanks to you!"

"Me?" He recoils. "What did I do?"

She pokes his chest, " _Someone_ nominated me, and thanks to that, I might as well have a target painted on my head because your girlfriend—"

"Ex." He corrects her. " _Ex_ -girlfriend."

Clarke rolls her eyes and keeps walking, "I don't care, Bellamy."

"Hey, I had no control over any of that."

"Then why the hell did I get nominated?" 

He gives her this _duh_ look that makes her want to strangle him. "It's pretty clear the student body took notice of you this weekend." She presses a finger to her temple and counts to ten, because that is _definitely_ his doing. He continues to talk. "She's just pissed that her run for prom queen might not be such a sure thing." 

"Oh, please.” Clarke rolls her eyes. “She’s still a sure thing." 

Bellamy laughs, "I think you're underestimating how badly this school would like another viable option."

She huffs, "Bree was nominated. There's their other option right there."

He gives her a level look, "Bree. Roma's right hand woman?"

"That's the one." She nods.

Bellamy snorts, "Clarke, absolutely no one is going to vote for her."

"Why not?" She frowns.

He laughs, "Come on. The only person more disliked than Roma is the one who blindly carries out her will." Clarke admits, that's a fair point. Bellamy’s voice takes an apologetic tone. "Listen, I'm sorry you're getting caught up in this, but hear me out."

"You have until we get to the studio." She picks up the pace. 

"What if, instead of brushing this off, you embrace it?"

Clarke stops and turns to face him, "And why, exactly, would I do that?"

He leans in, "Think about it. The only reason she's so livid is because she knows you're a legitimate threat. You could actually win this thing."

"What makes you think I even care about winning?"

"You don't want to be prom queen?"

She rolls her eyes and walks again, "Seriously, Bellamy. I don't care. It’s the epitome of a popularity contest." She huffs, “It promotes unnecessary rivalry that we think is normal because it’s shoved down our throats by teen movies and shitty books.”  

"Then send a message." They stop at the entrance to the art studio and Clarke turns to face him as he makes his final appeal. "Come on, Clarke. Show the people in this school that you don't have to be Satan in heels to be prom queen. Show the younger girls that they don’t need to be buying into the practice of bullying your way to the top.” It’s not the strongest argument, but she understands the gist of what he’s saying.  

Clarke studies him and finds she enjoys watching him squirm a bit. "I'll think about it," she relents. 

"That's all I’m asking." With a wide grin, he raps his knuckles on the door frame. The action draws her attention to his large hands, and _shit_ , those are unexpectedly appealing. Inconveniently appealing. She closes her eyes and absolutely does not think about the network of veins on the back of his hand, or the way they converge into that single line up his well-built forearm. God, now is not the time for her to be attracted to him.

"Get out of here. I need to focus." With a coy smile, she turns back and makes her way into the studio.

“Clarke, there you are.” Luna calls from the other side of the room as she strolls over to Clarke’s easel. Luna doesn’t appear to be much older than her students, and insists that she feels more comfortable when they call her by her first name. Clarke thinks she’s probably one of the cooler teachers at Arkadia.  “Congratulations on your nomination, by the way.”

Clarke smiles tightly, “Yeah, that was a… surprise.”

“Congratulations all the same.” She nods over at Clarke’s canvas as she pulls the cover away. “I was just talking to a friend about you.” Clarke quirks an intrigued eyebrow and Luna continues. “She’s on the admissions committee for UCLA Arts. She told me they’re still interviewing candidates for the art program.”

Clarke gives her a conciliatory smile, “We’ve talked about this. I don’t have plans to study art after high school.”

The instructor rests a warm hand on Clarke’s shoulder. “It’s my duty to encourage talented artists to embrace their gifts. I’m not giving up on you just yet, Miss Griffin.”

Clarke smiles and takes in the state of her canvas. “We’ll see.”

“I’ll let you get to your work.” She points at a portion of the canvas that’s mostly finished. “Your shading here is excellent. You’ve always had a natural eye for that.”

Clarke nods, “Thank you.” There’s still so much left to do before this project will even look cohesive. She gathers her materials she’ll need to work on the details of the cupped hands in the center of the piece. She has hopes to finish the hands this period, but every time she starts, she gets caught up on something insignificant. Last time, it was placement and angle of a skin fold on the wrist. Looking over it now, she is already irritated by the too-bold network of veins under the wrists. They need to be lightened and blended. And now that she sees that, the skin tone looks… wan, almost sickly.

She’s regretting her decision to forego the overalls today, now that she needs the pockets for her brushes. She chooses not to overthink _why_ she ditched them, or why she chose to wear one of Octavia’s pre-approved outfits instead. She’s just glad to find a smock with a decent number of pockets.

She squeezes out small dollops of cadmium red, ultramarine blue, and cadmium yellow along the edges of her board. She mixes equal amounts of each color together until she’s achieved a dark brown. She squeezes a line of titanium buff onto the board, then begins to mix it in with the brown in an effort to achieve the skin tone needed for her painting. After she’s fully mixed the first segment, she pauses to look closely at it. She realizes it’s remarkably similar to Bellamy’s skin tone – rich and deep with warm golden undertones. She’s walked by the soccer fields when they’re in practice. She’s seen the broad expanse of Bellamy’s chest gleaming in the sun when he peels his jersey off during a break. He has the kind of body that artists love to capture – well-proportioned with clearly defined muscles. Almost cut from marble. At the same time, she wants to run her fingers over every inch of it to feel his warmth seep into her bones. The thought comes unbidden, so abrupt that the palette knife drops out of her hand. The clattering of the tool on the floor catches the attention of the students working near her. She apologizes, shaking her head, as if the action will clear her mind of thoughts of Bellamy’s physique.

She blows out a chest full of air as she stands back up and squeezes some more white paint onto the board, then mixes it in again to lighten it further. Her own skin tone is the color she’s aiming for, so she pulls in some more of the ultramarine blue to match the cooler undertones. When she finally approaches the right color, she creates a family of skin tones close to her own so that she can add depth with the details.

As she finishes the fine-tuning of skin tones on her palette, she thinks about Bellamy’s suggestion. She is certain that his assertion that she could beat Roma is absolutely incorrect, but a small part of her sees value in the opportunity to challenge the assumption that girls need to be vicious to be popular.

She shifts her focus to her canvas. All semester, she perfected the background. An out-of-focus figure is in the distance, hunched over a camera and adjusting settings. The memory of this moment is crystal clear. It was just a few weeks before her dad died. He took her out to the beach so he could show her techniques for capturing sunsets over the Pacific. When she closes her eyes, she can still taste the salt in the air, feel the way the wind pulled her hair from her messy braid until the braid was no longer recognizable. The feel of sand slipping through her fingers as she tried to cup it in her hands made her laugh inside, and a smile stretched across her face when it tickled her bare legs. She remembers, her dad snapped a photo right then. She protested at first – _Dad, oh my god, I wasn_ _’_ _t ready for that!_ – but he just shook his head with a smile and assured her it was beautiful. He developed the image the next day and showed it to her, declaring it to be his best work. She rolled her eyes because he was a fucking sap about it, but to this day, it remains her favorite photo of herself.

The bell rings just as she’s cleaning off her mixing board. Satisfied with what she accomplished, she returns to her locker to find Raven and Gina waiting for her with matching grins. Raven gives her a once-over. "So, Clarke. What's the verdict?"

Clarke sighs, "Alright, I'm in."  

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It’s still Monday! This is later than I normally try to get it posted, but it’s been a weird day and I kind of had a hard time opening up my computer today? But I did it, and I posted! I’ve been in a writing funk (which is kinda what I notice happens when the season starts up), so my apologies for not being more on-the-ball here. [In retrospect, dealing with a sick kid and self all weekend may have had something to do with it]. 
> 
> In other news, while writing this fic, I’ve realized just how much the mean girl trope in the media annoys the fuck out of me. Really… (In case that’s not obvious). It annoys Clarke, too. That much should be clear, by now. And now we get to see our girl making friends and bonding a bit with NICE girls who like to validate each other. Because that's good shit. 
> 
> Anyway, I really appreciate you guys reading, and I’m truly grateful for your feedback! Please keep them coming. **KUDOS** and **COMMENTS** give me life, so please leave them!


	7. a moment

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bellamy finds himself spending most of his free time with Clarke. He’s stopped trying to convince himself that it’s just about the bet.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much Amber for being such an awesome beta and lovely friend :)  
> And thank you Maggie for being a sounding board and getting me out of my stuck spots.

Over the next few weeks, Roma zealously campaigns for votes. Bellamy gets a vindictive stab of satisfaction when he sees her desperation. This is a girl who has had her eyes set on a fucking tiara since she could walk. She's only eighteen and she's about to peak in life. He almost feels bad for her. Then he remembers the way she treated Clarke, and any residual pity goes out the window.  The more examples he sees of her nasty behavior, the more he regrets not caring about just how vicious Roma was to other people while they were together.

Clarke, for her part, has done little more than smile and wave. She's left the actual campaigning to Gina and Raven, who have taken a low-key approach that seems to fit Clarke’s presence. Colorful posters are stuck to the walls in various places in the school with cute messages encouraging people to vote for Clarke.

It’s understated, but there’s no doubt she’s a contender for the crown. 

Bellamy finds himself spending most of his free time with Clarke. He’s stopped trying to convince himself that it’s just about the bet. Hell, every reminder of the bet makes his stomach turn…  

He enjoys her company, and wishes he’d thought to make friends with her before. They eat lunch together almost every day. Sometimes he joins her and Wells in their little corner of the quad. He cracks a grin when Raven casually drops by under the auspices of checking on Clarke, but ends up spending the whole time bantering with Wells. He hopes they get their shit together soon. It’s got to be exhausting, pretending they aren’t head over fucking heels for each other. He figures it has something to do with Wells being in the public eye, and Raven’s discomfort with people prying into her personal life. Like Bellamy, she didn’t grow up with money. Her home life was shit, until Gina and her family took her in back in middle school. The girls went from rec league soccer teammates to sisters. It’s been years, but he knows Raven is as sensitive about her childhood as he is. It’s one of many ways they relate.

Sometimes Clarke needs a break from the crowd, so he'll bring lunch to the art studio, where he’ll find her hard at work, refining a piece she won't let anyone see just yet.  

Clarke doesn't have work after school today, so she waits for him to get out of soccer practice. He knows she doesn't pay attention to the team, focusing intently on her sketch book instead.

He taps the bottom of her shoe with his own. “Hey, you want to get Pinkberry?”

She peeks up at him from behind her sunglasses and pulls her headphones down off her ears. “Sure.”

He holds a hand out to help her stand up, then they make their way to the froyo shop. He doesn’t realize until several minutes into their walk that they never actually let go of each other’s hands. Rather, they remain casually joined, fingers loosely interlaced. He’s taken aback by how natural and right it feels. Casual intimacy isn’t something he’s ever felt with someone before. Absentmindedly joining hands with someone? Not a thing for him. Ever.

“Where?”  Clarkes voice startles him out of his thoughts.

He clears his throat, “What was that?”

“I was asking about schools.” She smiles, “Where did you apply?”

“Oh. UCLA, Berkeley, Stanford, for the California schools.”

“Did you apply to out-of-state schools?”

“Yeah, Colombia. Just to say I applied to Ivy League schools.”

She rolls her eyes, “Who knew you were such an overachiever.”

He laughs, “You don’t have to be an overachiever to apply.”

“True. But getting into those schools would qualify someone for the overachiever title. Which ones have you heard back from?”

“All of them, actually.”

She gives him an expectant look. “Well? Did you get into any?”

“Yeah.” He blows out a chest full of air, “All of them.” 

She smiles, “Bellamy, that’s amazing. Really. And kind of surprising.”

Bellamy laughs, “What, you don’t think I’m good enough?”

She stops walking, halting them both, and pulls on his hand until he faces her. “You know I don’t think that.”

He smirks, “I was kidding.”

Clarke gives him a thoughtful look. The one that pierces his defenses and silently calls him on his bullshit, “Maybe. But my point remains. I know you’re good enough. I’m just surprised because you aren’t a… Tracy Flick.”

He laughs, “Did you just compare me to a Reese Witherspoon character?”

“Hey, I love Reese Witherspoon, so if you have any shit to talk about her, find another set of ears.”

Bellamy holds a hand up in surrender, “No complaints here.” After a moment, he asks, “What about you? Where did you apply”

“Stanford, UCLA, and Pomona. I got into those.” She twists her mouth to the side, “Both Wells and I applied to Harvard. He got in, I didn’t.”

Bellamy squeezes her hand, “I’m sorry.”

She shakes her head, “Don’t be. I didn’t exactly have my heart set on going there or anything. Honest.”

Bellamy nods, “Still. It’s never fun to get a rejection letter.”

Clarke snorts, “Like you would know.”

He smirks, “Good point.”

“Do you know where you’re going to go?”

He grimaces, “Honestly, I have no fucking idea. Kane wants me to go to Stanford. It’s where he went.”

She nods, “Same with my mom.”

“So, you get the whole parental expectation thing.”

“Oh, yeah…”

“What are you going to study?” 

“Biology and Chemistry. Eventually go on to med school.”

Bellamy nods, “Huh.”

She raises an eyebrow, “What does _huh_ mean?”

“I guess I thought you would study something artsy. You’re always drawing in your sketchbook.” He laughs, “And you _always_ have paint somewhere on you. It’s like you live in paint or something.”

Clarke smiles, “Yeah, I like to create… Art is kind of where I find peace, I guess.”

“So why not pursue it further?” 

She shrugs, “It’s… complicated.”

“How so?”

Her smile is wistful in a way. “Art was something that really bonded me with my dad.”

Bellamy nods into the silence, “And he died.” 

“Yeah.” A beat passes. “Did I tell you how he died?”

He shakes his head, “No. I figured you’d tell me if you wanted me to know.”

She looks out at a distance, like she’s testing the words in her head before she says them out loud. “I blamed myself for a long time.”

“Why?”

“Because… It seemed like my fault.” Bellamy waits quietly for her to continue. “He was teaching me the process of developing your own negatives, you know, in a dark room and what not. Photography was his craft.”

“Those prints around your house – are those his?”

Clarke has a wistful smile. “Yeah. Those are his…” She continues. “Anyway, it turns out I am really fucking terrible at developing negatives. In my process of trial and error – emphasis on error – I went through a lot of materials. So, dad ordered replacements in bulk, and they were delivered to this warehouse in some sketchy part of LA. He’d also found some sort of tool that he thought would help me, so he was stoked for that delivery. As soon as he got the call, he headed straight for the warehouse to pick it up.” She shakes her head, “It was like he couldn’t wait. He was just _so sure_ that this device would be my key to mastery or something.” She smiles, “And his excitement was contagious. That’s just the kind of person he was, you know? When he was happy, it was like it would rub off on everyone around him. So yeah, when he got the delivery notification, I was as eager as he was to try it. He dropped everything to go pick it up.”

“What happened?”

“An eighteen-wheeler blew a red light and T-boned his car in the middle of the intersection.” She just blurts the words out like nothing, as if she wasn’t describing a moment that completely altered the course of her life. Her casual tone is belied by the twitch of her jaw, the thick swallow between sentences.

Bellamy blows out chest full of air. “Jesus…”

Clarke furrows her brows, “I was _convinced_ that if I hadn’t pushed him to go pick it up, maybe if I’d told him to get it another day, he’d still be alive.” Her fingers practically vibrate between his own, but his thumb strokes soothing circles into her hand.

“You can’t take on that blame, Clarke.”

She sniffs, “I know… It’s a self-centered mindset, believing myself to have caused it. I know now, that conviction reflects immaturity.” Her mouth twists to the side. “When I realized the world doesn’t revolve around me, I was able to accept that it wasn’t actually my fault. I mean, it wasn’t _his_ fault, either. It was the truck driver who ran the light. At the end of the day, it was still my dad’s decision to drive there. I may have wanted him to go, but I didn’t make him.” It sounds rehearsed, like she’s said it to herself a thousand times. She probably has.

“The road is risky.” He says, because he’s not really sure what to add, here.

“Exactly.” She nods, “Every time you get into the car, you make a decision based on a calculated risk. And that’s what he did… I didn’t make that decision. But at age 15, everyone thinks the sun rises and sets on their asses.”

Bellamy hums, “Egocentricity.”

She smirks, “Someone was paying attention in AP Psych… It’s a normal part of adolescent development. But, it’s easy for that egocentric mentality to backfire in the face of trauma.”

Bellamy nods, “The same way they think everyone is obsessed with them, they’re easily convinced everything is their fault.”

“Basically, yeah.”

“I hadn’t thought of it that way.”

Clarke shrugs, “Lots of therapy helped me figure it out.”

“Did you ever master the dark room?”                

She snorts, “No. I still dabble in photography, but purely digital, not film.”

“Is that because of your dad?”

She shrugs, “Maybe on some level, yeah. But my strength was always in sketching and painting. So, that’s where I honed my talent, so to speak.” She thinks a beat. “I don’t know if it’s something I’ll continue in college.”

“Why not? Does your mom have a problem with it or something?”

Clarke shakes her head, “She hasn’t been discouraging. I don’t think she would forbid it or anything. It’s just…” He stays patiently silent while Clarke works her thoughts out. “Art was my dad’s and my _thing._ And mom knows that. She still misses him, and I know she’s lonely… I guess I worry sometimes that if I fully embrace art, my mom will feel more alone than ever. Like I’m following dad’s dream and leaving hers behind.”

“Okay, but what about _your_ dream?”

Clarke tilts her head to the side. “I-” She thinks on it some more. “I don’t know what my dream is.” She shakes her head as if to physically move away from discussing her dad any further, then gives him a look. “What about you? What do you want to do?”

Bellamy shrugs, “Kane wants me to consider pre-law, and eventually law school. And it could be a good fit, really. Law is an interesting field, so I don’t think I’d be bored…” He considers this further. “I like to dismantle other people’s arguments. I can apply logic, in creative ways if I need to.” 

She adds, “You’re good a _people_ , too. You’ve got a talent for convincing others to consider things they might not have given thought to before.” Bellamy feels a stab of guilt, since he’s used that skill on _her_ in a way she would probably consider manipulative. Hell, he _knows_ it’s manipulative.

He nods, “I think I could be good at it. But, I feel like it’s no longer my choice... I showed aptitude for it, and as soon as I said I might be interested, it became this predetermined path in Kane’s mind. Maybe I’m just being stubborn, but I don’t want to be boxed into that path just because someone else has this ambition for me. I never got a chance to make it my own.”

“I imagine Kane sees a lot of himself in you.”

He nods, “Yeah, and I feel like I have a lot to live up to that way.”

Clarke agrees, “He’s come far and he does good work.”

He scrubs his free hand over his face. “I don’t want to leave Octavia again.”

She frowns, “You can’t stay with her forever.”

“I know that.” He snaps. He immediately regrets his harsh tone, but Clarke seems unfazed.

“It’s not the same as when you guys got separated before.”

Bellamy looks at her, and he really shouldn’t be surprised that she’s able to immediately pinpoint the heart of his struggle. “On a cognitive level, I know that. She’s safe, and she’ll be fine. But I’m still _leaving_.”

“You aren’t abandoning her.”

He shakes his head, “Then why does it feel like I am?”

Clarke shrugs, “I’m willing to bet that you’re the only one who feels that way.” She nudges him, “You’re being too hard on yourself.”

“So are you.”

“ _I_ am?” She hesitates. “What do you mean?”

“I mean, I get what you’re saying about your dad and the art thing, but your reasoning is flawed.”

Clarke grunts, “ _Flawed_ _reasoning_ … Maybe you _should_ be a lawyer.”

“I’m just saying, embracing the bond you shared with your dad doesn’t have to automatically exclude your mom.” Clarke hums but doesn’t say anything otherwise. They come to a stop when they reach Pinkberry. They get in the back of the line, which extends outside the actual store. It’s typical for this time of day, as the froyo shop is wildly popular.

Bellamy gently turns her body to face him fully. “Give yourself a break, Clarke.”

“You first.” She tells him, voice barely above a whisper. The warm, late afternoon sunlight bounces off her curls, making her hair shine in a hundred shades of gold. He twists the ends of a few tendrils between his thumb and forefinger. The corners of her mouth raise ever so slightly, and he quite suddenly realizes how _close_ they are, how soft her skin is under his thumb as he traces her cheekbone. Her eyes flutter shut as he grazes a line over the mole above her lip to the corner of her mouth.

“Hey, lovebirds, you’re holding up the line!” A shrill voice startles them both, and just like that, the moment is gone. He can’t quite put a finger on the feeling in his chest when he sees the frustration in her expression. He realizes all at once that he wants to kiss her. Like, _really_ wants to. This moment right here will probably play on a loop in his head for the next week, distracting him at inopportune times, reminding him that he wants to kiss Clarke Griffin, but can’t. He can’t, because he needs to come clean about the bet, first. He dreads the idea, knows that once he tells her, the sincerity of every interaction will be tainted with doubt for her. He doesn’t want her to find out the wrong way. He’s not really sure if there’s a _right way_ for her to find out, but he’s pretty sure that finding out from anyone besides him certainly qualifies as the wrong way.

Clarke clears her throat and tucks her hair behind her ears while she backs away from Bellamy to close the gap where the line moved. He at least takes some comfort in the fact that she looks somewhat frustrated, giving him just a glimmer of hope that this whole… _thing_ isn’t one-sided.

“You coming?” She asks, eyebrows raised with a shy smile. 

He nods with a lopsided grin, “Right behind you.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright, guys. I just got Pornstar AU back from beta (Thank you amber!) And I’ll be doing the final polishes on that and posting it this week. Finally. So, get that buzz going around ;) 
> 
> As always, COMMENTS give me life and KUDOS make me grin. Please keep them all coming!


	8. a connection

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Clarke plops down in the empty seat next to Wells and lets go a long-suffering sigh. “Am I kissable?” 
> 
> Wells raises an eyebrow. “Are you asking me?” 
> 
> Clarke frowns and glances around the empty room, “Who else would I be talking to?” 
> 
> He smirks, “I think you know the answer is yes. Or I wouldn’t have gotten slapped for trying in sixth grade. Why do you ask?” 
> 
> “No reason.” Clarke chuckles, because slapping someone after kissing her should probably disqualify her as kissable, but she appreciates that it didn’t seem to change Wells’ opinion on the matter.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I want to thank Amber for being a great beta (though she didn’t actually get a chance to go through this chapter- that’s my fault for slacking this weekend on getting it over to her. All mistakes are my own…). And a heartfelt shout out to Maggie, who is going through some shit right now.

Clarke plops down in the empty seat next to Wells and lets go a long-suffering sigh. “Am I kissable?”

Wells raises an eyebrow. “Are you asking me?”

Clarke frowns and glances around the empty room, “Who else would I be talking to?” 

He smirks, “I think you know the answer is yes. Or I wouldn’t have gotten slapped for trying in sixth grade. Why do you ask?”

“No reason.” Clarke chuckles, because slapping someone after kissing her should probably disqualify her as _kissable,_ but she appreciates that it didn’t seem to change Wells’ opinion on the matter. Wells gives her a raised eyebrow but lets it go. Clarke changes the subject. “I’ve been meaning to ask you something.”

“What’s that?”

“Why were you helping Bellamy? I mean, you’re basically pushing us together.”

Wells looks down at his book, then closes it with a gentle smile. “I guess… I don’t want you to be lonely.”

“Lonely? I’ve got you.”

He looks at her thoughtfully. “Clarke, I’m moving across the country in a few months. I guess I was hoping to… widen our social circle. And I knew Bellamy applied to the same schools you did, so there’s at least a chance he’d be local. At the very least, in the same state. And according to Raven, he’s a good guy.”

Clarke raises a curious eyebrow, “You knew Raven before?”

Wells fails to hide a grin. “You could say that.” There’s more to that story, but she’ll wait until he’s ready to share it. He tilts his head, “I want you to be happy, Clarke.” 

Her lips stretch into a smile when she realizes, for the first time in a long while, there’s a lightness in her heart.  “I am.”

 

* * *

 

 

Clarke is sitting on a hill overlooking the lacrosse fields where Octavia is playing. The school season is over, but her club team is just starting the summer session, and she insisted that Clarke come with Bellamy to her first game. The crowd is somewhat sparse, typical of recreational leagues, especially in the beginning of the season. But, their feverish energy more than makes up for the small numbers.

Octavia is in possession of the ball for a lot of the game, which Clarke assumes is a good thing. That, and the multiple times her shots have successfully sailed past the other team’s goalkeeper into their net.

“What are you drawing?” Bellamy’s voice jars her out of her trance-like sketching state. Clarke tilts the sketchbook so he can see her depiction of Octavia.  

“Wow. That looks just like her.” He takes the book from Clarke’s hands and inspects it closer. The girl’s dark hair is pulling free from the braid that held it back at the beginning of the game, her wild eyes fixed on something in the distance. She’s got a fierce scowl on her face – the one she made at the ref when she didn’t agree with his last call. He chuckles, “She’s got the glare and everything… Spitting image.”

Clarke laughs, “She’s got good features. Sharp lines and well-defined angles – they’re nice to draw.”

Bellamy hands the book back to her, “Well, you’re really good.” She appreciates that he doesn’t flip through other pages in the book. He never has. The first time she let him see something she was working on, he heeded her guarded expression and kept his perusal limited only to the page displayed. Like he knew she doesn’t share it with other people readily, so he knew better than to push for more than she gave willingly.

“Thanks.”  She nods over at the field, “So Octavia has the ball a lot. I’m assuming that’s a good thing?”

Bellamy chuckles, “Yeah, she’s had possession a lot.” He squints, “She should be passing it more often, truthfully.”

Clarke hums, “Maybe she likes the spotlight.”

Bellamy tilts his head, “I don’t think that’s what it is. A lot of the kids on this team are new to her, so I think she just doesn’t…”  He trails off.

“…Trust them?” Clarke asks. 

He nods, “Yeah. She’s of the belief that if you want something done right, do it yourself. And I think she doesn’t think they’ll… do it right.” He huffs, “She can be kind of bullheaded about it, sometimes.”

Clarke snorts, “I wonder where she gets that.” 

He smirks, “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Sure you don’t.” She shakes her head while she uses her pinky to smudge a line over the contour of Octavia’s sharply-defined jaw. She adjusts her wrist to draw another set of lines, when suddenly the pencil is snatched out of her grip. She looks over at Bellamy, who is twirling it between his fingers. His long, sturdy fingers, attached to his strong hand, and Christ, now she’s staring at the raised veins along his forearms again. It’s a problem. One she’s addressed many times in the privacy of her own room… Really, she’s not sexually frustrated… She stifles a groan, because goddammit, she is. And it’s absolutely his fault. She raises an eyebrow, “Really, Bellamy?” He makes a low whistle and continues to twirl the pencil, finger to nimble finger, and oh god, now is _really_ not the time to be thinking about his dexterity again.

“Need something, Clarke?” He teases with a smirk. She sighs with a nonchalant shrug of the shoulders and sets her sketch book to her other side. She visualizes all signs of tension leaving her body, waiting for Bellamy to let his guard down. When he finally does, she darts her hand to grab the pencil.

And misses.

He chuckles, holding it high out of her reach. “Ask nicely.”

She laughs, “Jackass…” then surges up, this time grabbing his wrists. This manages to surprise him enough for her to push him onto his back, and she suddenly finds herself straddling his waist, pinning his arms above his head. His arms flex against her hold, but not enough to actually free himself, even though he easily could. It’s more like a shudder under her palms. Her hair falls like a curtain, wisps of it tickling along his cheeks and making his skin twitch. The movement draws her eyes to the pattern of freckles on his face, taking note of their particularly strong contrast after being in the sun all day.  She thinks she would probably like to draw them.

“Clarke-“ Bellamy’s voice is strangled and she is suddenly very cognizant of their positioning.

She all but leaps off him, snatching her pencil in the process with a victorious humph, “I’ll take that, thank you.” She clears her throat and prays she doesn’t look as shaken as she feels, reminds herself that the thundering rush of blood in her ears is audible only to her, and there’s no way he knows exactly how much of an effect he has. She fists her shaking hands until she regains control over her fingers, then shakes them out before picking up her sketch pad again. In the corner of her eye, Bellamy remains on his back, arms still splayed above his head. He hasn’t moved at all, except to bend his knees to hide his— oh… She nearly breaks her pencil lead when she realizes, with a start, that he is just as wrecked as she is. With a deep breath, she goes back to her sketching, tracing over existing lines to appear busy, because god knows she has no idea what to say right now.

Bellamy’s fingers come to her side to shift her shirt upwards by a few inches. She nearly jolts at the unexpected contact when he traces the lower boundary of her tattoo. “What is this?” When he sees her tension, he releases the fabric like it’s made of fire and lets it fall back over her skin.

She grins, “Oh yeah. Remember that night when I told you to remind me to blow your mind?”

Bellamy nods with a chuckle, “Yeah… If I recall, other things came up that night.”

“True.” She gestures broadly at the side of her torso, “Well, I’ve got my own ink.”

He hisses, “Jesus…”

She snorts, “Really? Are you that surprised?”

He sits up, shaking his head, “That you’ve got a tattoo? No. Just surprised it’s… there.”

“As opposed to?”

He shrugs, “I don’t know, I guess I expected it to be a tramp stamp or something.”

Clarke laughs and nudges him with her elbow, “I’m deeply offended by that assumption.”

Bellamy gives her a lopsided grin, “Well, consider me corrected.” He raises an eyebrow, “Can I see the rest of it?”

Clarke gives him a sidelong glance, “Yeah, tonight.”

“Tonight?”

“Yeah, remember, Octavia wants me to come over for dinner and a soak in the hot tub.” She gestures in front of her at nothing, “Or something like that.”

He nods, “Ah, yeah now I remember.” He smirks, “I think I can hold out until then.”

Clarke grins, eyes trained on her sketch, “You don’t really have a choice, do you?”

Just then the buzzer goes off and Octavia’s game is over. Clarke gathers her things and stands up, then holds her hand out for Bellamy, who takes it with an exaggerated groan.

Clarke chuckles, “Come on, you’re 19, not 90.”

He grumbles as he straightens up, “Did I get grass stains all over my ass?” He turns so his backside is facing her and she averts her eyes. Okay, she _tries_ to avert her eyes, but he _did_ ask a specific question. Her inspection of his ass may be gratuitous, but… it’s for science. It’s really not fair that the guy is not only blessed with perfect forearms and a mouthwatering chest, but also possesses an amazing ass. And she doesn’t even find guys’ asses particularly appealing, generally speaking. But god, she’s making a profound exception for Bellamy’s. He dusts the grass off his pants, but misses a spot, just where his cheek meets the back of his thigh. Probably. Not that she can be certain while his pants are still on…

“Clarke?” He breaks her out of her musing.

She clears her throat and answers, “Your ass is fine.”

He quirks an eyebrow as he turns around, “Yeah, I know that. But-”

She rolls her eyes, “No grass stains, Bellamy.”  He walks a step ahead of her as they make their way to the field to meet Octavia, and god, that missed spot is getting to her. She reaches out to casually dust off the few blades of dry grass, just as he comes to a halt. Clarke swears she doesn’t shriek, but she’s painfully aware that _some_ sort of sound escapes her when she realizes her casual brush was, in fact, a full-on grope. She jerks her hand back, “Shit, I’m sorry! You just missed a spot.”

He smirks and turns to face her, “Clarke, if you want to grab my ass, all you have to do is ask.”

She huffs and breezes past him, calling over her shoulder, “In your dreams, Bellamy.”

He laughs, “Oh, Clarke, you have no idea.” 

She thinks she might.

 

* * *

  

Clarke lets herself in when she gets to Bellamy and Octavia’s house. She’s been here quite a few times over the past few weeks, and at some point, Bellamy told her she didn’t need to knock anymore.

She wanders into the kitchen, where the Blake siblings are making dinner. They haven’t seen her, and she doesn’t yet announce herself. She just watches the two of them bicker and jab lightheartedly while they dance around each other, almost like their movements are choreographed – Bellamy reaching around to turn down the stove while Octavia stretches up to snatch something off the rack above the range. She doesn’t quite reach it, and before she can ask, he pulls it off the rack and hands it to her. Clarke smiles at the way he reads his sister. He knows to let her try, or she’ll probably snap at him, but he’s ready to help the moment she needs it.

Clarke sees, with crystal clarity, why Bellamy has a hard time with the idea of leaving Octavia. It’s not that she won’t be okay. It’s obvious she will be just fine. But just these few minutes of wordless interactions, she sees how accustomed he is to meeting her needs. What is he supposed to do with his mother-hen energy once he doesn’t have Octavia to hover over? 

She clears her throat and they both turn around as she makes her way farther into the kitchen.

Octavia brightens, “Clarke! Tell him that I am perfectly capable of oven-roasting potatoes.”

Clarke laughs, “Bellamy, your sister is sixteen, not six. She can handle a few potatoes.”

He rolls his eyes and ruffles Octavia’s hair, comes over to greet Clarke. She doesn’t know when it became A Thing for him to press a kiss to her temple in lieu of actually saying _hello_ , but she’s not complaining. Each time, his hand settles itself at her waist like it belongs there, and she’s starting to feel like maybe it does. And if her knees feel a little bit like jelly right now, it probably has something to do with the increasingly vivid daydreams she’s had, of Bellamy pinning her to a wall and just _consuming_ her on the spot. Or maybe the thing today where she had _him_ pinned to the ground, hovering over him like she was waiting for him to surge up and kiss her. She certainly would not have stopped him…

“You thirsty?” He asks, shaking her out of her thoughts.

She nods, “Definitely. I’ll get myself some water.”

Octavia pipes up, “We’ve got beer in the fridge, too.”

“Will Kane mind?” She gets the feeling he probably doesn’t, but doesn’t think it’s a bad idea to ask.

Bellamy chuckles, “He doesn’t care, as long as we aren’t throwing a party, and we keep it in the house.” He adds, “He’s not home tonight, anyway. He had some sort of benefit to attend.”

Clarke laughs, “Yeah, I know. He showed up to pick up my mom just as I was leaving to come here.”

“How is the esteemed Doctor Griffin?” Octavia asks, lightly.

Clarke chuckles, “Um, she’s fine. You know my mom?”

Octavia rolls her eyes, “Yes, Clarke. I knew your mom before I even knew who you were. Dad talked about her enough.”

Clarke hums as she takes both of the beer bottles Bellamy hands her, “Yeah, I knew Marcus, but not well enough to know he had kids… or, adopted kids.”

Octavia laughs and passes Clarke a bottle opener, “Well, now you do.” She nods out at the patio, a modern set up with perfectly placed low lighting that lends a minimalist feel to the area. “Hey, can you take the condiment tray to the patio? Dinner is outside tonight.”

“Sure,” She takes the tray and makes her way out. “What are we having?”

Bellamy holds a tray of perfectly shaped beef patties, raw and ready for the grill. “Burgers. I thought I told you.”

Clarke shakes her head, “Must have slipped my mind.” Probably around the time she was recovering from accidentally groping his ass…

Over dinner, they talk about Octavia’s upcoming lacrosse season, and how she’s looking forward to assassinating every team in the league. As Bellamy had mentioned earlier, about half the team is new to Octavia, so the kinks are still being worked out. But, if today’s win was any indication, they’ll be just fine.

“Alright, Griffin, the hot tub awaits.” Octavia chides as she stands up and pulls her dress over her head, leaving her in a tiny black bikini that, on any other day, would probably have Clarke lusting after the fairer Blake…

“I actually still need to change.” Clarke explains, as she heads back inside.

“You can use my room,” Octavia tells her. “You know where it is.”

Clarke thanks her and grabs her bag on the way to Octavia’s room. As she was leaving her house this evening, she hadn’t yet decided what to wear. Raven took her out shopping a few weeks back because the swimsuit she wore to the beach that first day was “atrocious and needed to be burned.” She ended up buying two suits – a sporty one-piece that Raven approved of only because it showcased her assets, and a two-piece that is far more… stringy. So far, she’s only worn the more conservative one around Bellamy. Today, however, she feels the impulse to switch it up.

She quickly changes into the bikini and turns around in front of the mirror to inspect herself while she adjusts the straps. She frowns a bit at her midsection, remembering Octavia’s incredibly lithe figure and feeling an irrational burst of insecurity. She suddenly wishes she’d picked the one-piece suit instead. She squeezes her eyes shut for a moment and reminds herself that she actually _likes_ her body the way it is.

She turns to the side and holds her arm over her head to get a full view of the phoenix that adorns the side of her torso. The wings curve around her ribcage, just under her breast, while the fiery tailfeathers taper down into a curl that ends toward her back. It was designed off a watercolor painting of her own, the product of multiple appointments, hours stretched out on her side while Anya needled the literal painstaking details into her skin. She finished it only a few months ago, and has made a point to be extremely careful with exposure to elements like the sun or chemicals. Now that it’s settled into her skin, she loves the way the color seems to pop off of it.

She takes a deep breath and ties her cover-up wrap dress around herself, then heads back out to the pool area where Bellamy and Octavia are. When she gets there, they’re both in the hot tub. Bellamy currently has his back to her, and both the siblings appear to be deep in conversation and not paying attention to her, which is perfectly fine with her. She begins to untie her dress, but her jittery fingers end up pulling the knot tighter.  Her attempt to avoid drawing attention to herself is foiled when she swears out loud at the ties. In retrospect, she should have just forgone the stupid cover-up. It’s not like she’s actually in public… She sighs with relief when she manages to unknot it, then unwraps the dress.

Octavia makes a wolf whistle as Clarke drops the garment off by one of the lounge chairs on her way over to the hot tub. And yeah, that makes her feel pretty good. But when Bellamy turns around and nearly chokes, “Holy fuck,” that feels even better.

Octavia flings water at her brother, “Jesus, Bell, close your mouth.” She chuckles, “It’s like you’ve never seen a girl before.”  

He rolls his eyes and sends a sizable wall of water her way, then scrubs his hand over his face, “Fuck off, O.”

Clarke chews at her lip while she descends the stairs into the hot tub. It’s nice – not scalding, but certainly warm enough to be relaxing. Bellamy faces forward again, keeping his eyes on her. His arms are casually stretched out to each side, and she is a little thrown by the way his position showcases his biceps. Despite that, she manages to make it all the way in without losing footing or doing anything embarrassing. She starts to sit down, but Octavia stops her, gesturing at her tattoo. “No, I want to see this.”

Clarke snorts, “You saw it the night you came and did my makeup.”

Octavia huffs, “Yeah, for like a minute.” She lifts Clarke’s arm up and spins her. “Bellamy, check this out.”

He rakes his eyes slowly over the design. “That is… impressive, Clarke.” She sees his fingers twitch in place, but he doesn’t move. She’s immensely grateful that he doesn’t reach out to touch her. Not because she doesn’t want him to. _God_ does she want him to. But she’s so keyed-up right now, there’s a good chance she’ll fucking melt if his hands make contact with any part of her.

Octavia lets her arm drop and goes to sit down on the far end of the hot tub, leaving Clarke and Bellamy seated against adjacent walls.

“What’s the deal with setting birds on fire?” Octavia asks.

Bellamy snorts, “It’s a phoenix, O, and you know that.”

She cackles, “Well, yeah, big brother. I was just curious if _she_ knew.” She shoots a grin at Clarke. It’s nice to have this kind of comradery with Octavia, especially given how awkward their first meeting was. Once Octavia lets her walls down, she’s great company, and Clarke thinks that maybe they’re getting to be friends, too.

“It’s the symbolism. We have this stunning creature that dies in a dramatic and devastating show of fire, right?” She finds herself gesturing with her hands as she speaks. “There’s a profound beauty in that… But there’s a whole other facet, because from the ashes rises its successor.” She smiles, “New life always begins again, no matter how devastating the end of the last one.” She shrugs, “When my dad died, it felt like my world burned to the ground at my feet. Like, there was nothing left…” She takes another sip of her drink, “But as time went on, the empty and burned out parts of me found life again…”

Bellamy gives her a kind smile, “That makes a lot of sense.”

Clarke tilts her head, “It’s not like I’ll ever discard my memory of my life before my dad died, but now that it’s gone, now that I’ve let the metaphorical ashes settle…” She feels a hopeful smile, “Something beautiful can take form in its place.”

Bellamy hums, “In order to rise from its own ashes, a phoenix first must burn…”

Clarke nods, “Octavia Butler.”

Octavia chimes in, “People named Octavia are wise.”

Bellamy snorts, “Sure, O. Ride those coattails.”

Octavia laughs, “Solid tattoo, Clarke. And it sure beats the hell out of a butterfly tramp stamp.”

Bellamy huffs, “Like the one you thought you wanted?”

“We said we would never speak of that,” She shoots back. “Plus, it’s not gonna be a tramp stamp anymore. I’ve got other plans. Maybe Clarke will draw it for me.”

Clarke barks a laugh, “How about you leave me out of this.” She grins at their banter and takes a final swig of her beer, then lets her head drop back. She takes a deep breath, feeling the water bubble up around her, tickling her skin all over.

A phone rings, and Octavia jumps out of the hot tub to get it. She answers in a tone Clarke can only describe as _sultry_ , and Bellamy rolls his eyes, mumbling something unintelligible under his breath. Octavia hangs up and grabs a towel to dry off.

“I’m heading out, Bell.” She leaves no room for negotiation as she prances inside, calling over her shoulder, “It was good seeing you, Clarke!”

And just like that, Clarke is alone in a hot tub with Bellamy.

“What’s with the face?” Clarke asks him, almost cautiously.

Bellamy rolls his eyes, “She’s off to go see the guy she won’t tell me she’s seeing.”

Clarke laughs, “Well, with such a welcoming attitude, I don’t know why she wouldn’t want to bring him around here.” She jabs at him teasingly with her toe, hoping to draw a smile out of him, and to her delight, she succeeds. She is, however, woefully unprepared for the nearly-electric sensation of his skin against hers when he suddenly wraps his hand around her ankle. Just as she’s gathering her bearings, he draws her entire body forward until she’s practically in his lap. She catches her footing and balances herself with her hands on his chest. His broad, muscled chest. Her fingers flex over his pectorals, which are very, very distracting. She hears something that sounds like a groan, and she’s not sure if it’s the alcohol, the heat of the water, or just sheer embarrassment that makes her blush a furious shade of red when she realizes the sound came from _her._ She watches her hands slide up to his shoulders, her pale coloring a mesmerizing contrast to the rich brown of his skin.

“Clarke.” His voice is quiet but still startles her. She can’t bring herself to look him in the eyes just yet. She’d really like to get herself under control, first. “ _Clarke_ ,” He repeats, and that choked voice of his is back. Her lips quirk up at the corners because it’s even more satisfying now than it was this afternoon. She meets his gaze, and feels the air rush out of her lungs when she sees the need in his eyes, a flush of his own high on his cheeks. And it’s all because of her. His hands find her waist and give her a gentle squeeze, then move to settle lower on her hips. He tugs her forward just a bit, so she plants her knees on each side of his legs, hands still anchored on his shoulders. Perched up on her knees, her face hovers just inches above his before she rests their foreheads together. She closes her eyes and the world feels like it’s rocking around her now.

“This isn’t just me.” He pleads. “Tell me this isn’t just me.”

She shakes her head, her voice barely a whisper, “It’s not just you.”

Bellamy sighs with what she thinks is relief, and she braces herself, ready to meet him when he surges up to kiss her senseless. But he doesn’t do that at all. No, his movements are controlled and purposeful. So slow it’s almost painful. He pulls back and watches her with heavy lidded eyes. He squeezes her hip and gently pulls her down all the way into his lap, then drags his fingers up and down her spine, wordlessly encouraging her to relax. He cups her face in his palm and draws her close. She fights a shaky laugh at the tickle of his breath on her cheek when he touches her nose with his. His lips hover, a hair’s breadth away from hers, before he _finally_ closes the distance between them. It’s just a brush of contact, like he’s trying to decide exactly how to best fit his mouth to hers. Each time, he kisses a little harder, a little longer, and _oh_ , this is different from any kiss she’s ever felt. It’s so far from how she imagined kissing Bellamy would be. It’s slow. It gives, but it’s unbelievably consuming.

It’s not until her fingers trail up his neck and touch his cheek that he really moves. And it’s like he comes to life, lips incessant, demanding… If she thought it was intense before, _this_ leaves her breathless. She opens her mouth to him, and she can taste his drink on his tongue. The same as hers, but it tastes so much better in his mouth. His hands are everywhere at once, sliding up her back, down her leg, wrapping into the curve of her waist… His fingertips dance along her skin, teasing the raw nerve endings and god, it’s almost more than she can handle.

Her knee slips as she shifts her weight a bit, and her center collides with his thigh in _just_ the right way. She swears against his lips with a whimper, and the grin on his face says he knows _exactly_ why.

“Come on,” Bellamy urges her, teeth grazing the shell of her ear. She nods and his hand grasps her ass, kneads it while he guides her hips in a rolling motion, back and forth over his thigh. She shudders with a less-than-dignified noise when she catches a good angle.

He grins, “That good?”

She nods quickly, moaning as she grinds down again on his thigh, “Yeah, yeah it’s good.” And it is – it’s great, and maybe it’s enough, but she wants more. 

“Bell, I need-” She cuts herself off with a whimper.

“Come on, tell me what you need.” His words sink into her bones, and she’s barely hanging on now.

“Your hands,” She pants against his skin, “Use your hands, _please_.”

“ _Fuck_ _…_ ” He coughs out while he slips a tentative hand between them, cups her through her suit while she moves. “Like that?” He asks, sounding more than a little bit wrecked himself. And yeah, that’s good, the ridges of his palm rubbing her in all the right places.

She nods with a rough moan and pulls him into another kiss. Now that she’s kissed Bellamy, she doesn’t think she’ll ever want to stop.

His hands are busy, touching her, guiding her movements. But her own are free to wander… With one hand, she kneads and pulls at her own aching breasts, a move he audibly appreciates. Her other hand roams his body, nails scraping against his chest and abdomen. Fuck, everything feels so good, but it’s like she’s hit a plateau. She just can’t quite _get there_.

“Come on, Clarke, tell me what you need.”

She stutters, “Your fingers.”

“Where?” He asks, mouth hot on her neck.

“In me,” She breathes. “Inside me.”

He nods and doesn’t waste a moment before thumbing her swimsuit to the side and sinking a finger inside of her.

She digs her fingers into his shoulder, “More… I want two.”

He grins and obliges, _fuck_ he obliges. He hooks them just right and she remembers, _this_ is why someone else’s hands are always better than her own. She can never quite reach that spot inside by herself, but _fuck,_ Bellamy can.

“You feel good around my fingers, Clarke,” He nips at her skin, “So fucking good…” She laughs, because _god_ , she is so far from surprised that he’s got a filthy mouth right now. 

“You gonna come for me?”

She nods with a whimper, and his voice rumbles through her, “Fuck, I can feel it… you’re close.”

Her orgasm stirs deep in her core, an urgency added every time he rasps something dirty and desperate in her ear.

“Come on, just let go…” He repeats it like a mantra that winds her up, up and up, until finally it comes crashing through her, back arched and toes curled.

She falls forward against his chest, spent for the moment. He pulls his fingers out and she whimpers in protest of the emptiness.

He chuckles lightheartedly while he readjusts her swimsuit, then gently scratches along the base of her spine while she floats in her post-orgasm cloud. She shifts in his lap and suddenly feels how _hard_ he is. She shifts again and his whole body tenses with a heady groan. She thinks he could probably use a little release himself…

“Do you have a condom?” She whispers against his ear.

He freezes under her. “Uh, Clarke, we shouldn’t-” She falters more than a little, like she’s just been doused in ice water, and sits up straighter.

“Yeah, got it.” She swallows down a wave of nausea, because clearly, she read this wrong and should not have offered to _fuck him_ just now. What the hell just got into her?

Bellamy sighs and she winces at the sound.  “Shit, just – not like this.”

She huffs a terse laugh, “This?” What the fuck does he mean by _this?_

He grasps her chin between his thumb and forefinger and tilts it to face him, but she burns with too much embarrassment to meet his eyes.

“Clarke.” She presses her lips in a thin line and shakes her head with a thick swallow. “Clarke, just look at me.” She finally does and the softness in his expression feels like it might break her. He cups her face again, and the look in his eyes tugs at something painful inside of her.  His other hand rests at the top of her thigh, just where it meets the hip while his thumb rubs absentminded circles into her abdomen.

She shakes her head again, softer this time. “Bellamy, don’t worry about it, okay? I’m a big girl.” She chuckles, “I can handle it when someone says no.” She moves to get out of his lap, but he tightens his grip, so she pauses a moment.  

“Do you think I don’t want to?”

She smiles, wry, “I’m not offended, okay?” That might be one of the biggest lies she’s told in recent memory, but she’ll do what she can to save face here.

With a growl, he pulls her back down with renewed force, her center lined up with his still-hard cock. He rolls his pelvis up, “Clarke, I fucking _want_ to.”

Her fingers curl over his shoulders, “Oh.”

“But the first time I fuck you is not going to be in a stupid hot tub on some random Saturday night.” He tilts his head at the patio door, “Not when anyone could walk in on us.”

She nods slowly, chills running up her spine at the gravel in his tone. “I see.” Her hands slide up on each side of his neck, fingers tangling in the curls at the nape of his neck.

His voice drops lower, “I’m gonna take my time with you… Take you apart, bit-by-fucking-bit…” And _fuck_ , it’s like he’s speaking to something deep inside her. “…And Clarke, I’m gonna want all fucking night to do it.”

Her whole body shudders at his promise before she crashes her lips onto his again. He groans into her mouth and deepens the kiss, pulling her close again, and she knows he’s testing his own resolve. She snakes her hand between them, palms him through his swimsuit, grinning at the jerk of his hips.

She pulls back, just enough to tell him, “Then just let me make you feel good…” He smiles, almost disbelievingly, when she slowly slips her hand into his shorts, giving him plenty of time to stop her. He doesn’t. She wraps her hand around his cock and presses another kiss to his lips. “You made me feel good, now let me.”

He nods, “ _Fuck,_ ” and cups her face in both of his hands. He kisses her hot and deep, while she strokes her fist up and down. She swallows every moan and gasp while she works him over, memorizing the twists that make him grunt a little harder.

She nips at his earlobe with a grin, “Like that?”

“Harder,” He stutters, “Tighter.” She tightens her grip, just a bit and pulls a truly lecherous groan out of him. She finds a pattern he likes, twisting her wrist at the base every few strokes. It’s not long before his body starts to tense up and she knows he’s close. She crashes her lips to his again, licking deep in his mouth as she takes him to the edge. He lights up a string of profanities as he comes, his hips thrusting with jerky movements into her hand.

“Jesus…” He huffs, “Fuck, Clarke…”

She gives him a smug grin. And rests against his chest, finding comfort in the slowing rise and fall. “I think we took care of that.”

He shakes his head with a laugh, “Unbelievable…”

Yeah. It kind of is. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> By now, you all should realize that 100% of my bellarke first kisses include complimentary orgasms. I have no idea why that is A Thing, but I realized it is definitely my pattern. Not sorry. 
> 
> As far as actual time passed since the beginning of the fic - it's been about five weeks at this point. Sexual tension was at an all-time high and they just... snapped. (oops?) 
> 
> Anyway, as a reader, there are a limited number of “almost” kisses that I will tolerate before I want to throw my tablet/computer/phone against the wall and strangle the author. I don’t want to be that author, but I acknowledge I’d been teetering the edge of that line. 
> 
> Also, if you know the movie, you’re aware that I’m basically off the grid now… Like, we still revisit major plot points, but clearly this got (hotter and) heavier than the movie, and there’s more at stake. Sorry not sorry. 
> 
> Fun fact: The phoenix tattoo – A lot of this fic was written a while ago... in this case, it’s just a happy coincidence that is freakishly relevant in season 4 (where the slogan is “from the ashes we shall rise?” I think?). So… yay for random canon similarities ;)
> 
> [This is the image that was on my mind when I thought of a Clarke tattoo](http://tattoo-ideas.com/wp-content/uploads/2016/09/phoenix-watercolor-girls-side-tattoo.jpg) :)


	9. a cruel disappointment

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Now that he’s had a little bit, he needs more. He knows how her lips feel when they touch his. He can’t forget the taste of her skin, the dig of her nails in his shoulder. And her face when she comes – jaw slack and head thrown back, her tulip-pink lips parted in a perfect “O” – it’s burned in his memory. Knowing he gave that to her is intoxicating. She’s under his skin in the best way.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sooooo, it’s Wednesday, not Monday… Lots of life got in the way, and I hadn’t had a chance to post to AO3. Thank you for your patience :)  
> A big thank you to Amber. She is a saint.

 

If Bellamy thought he was drawn to Clarke before, he fucking orbits around her now… It’s like she has some magnetism that pulls him wherever she is, and he feels helpless to resist it.

He had absolutely no intention of escalating things like he did, and he’s never been more split in how he feels about something. It was stupid to make things physical before he could explain everything, he knows. But it felt like it couldn’t be stopped.  

Clarke was an inevitability.

Now that he’s had a little bit, he needs more. He knows how her lips feel when they touch his. He can’t forget the taste of her skin, the dig of her nails in his shoulder. And her face when she comes – jaw slack and head thrown back, her tulip-pink lips parted in a perfect “O” – it’s burned in his memory. Knowing _he_ gave that to her is intoxicating.  She’s under his skin in the best way.

Twice this weekend, he planned to tell her about the bet, only to back out before actually coming clean. He knows, cowardice now is only going to make everything come down more harshly later. But knowing that and doing something about it are proving to be very different things.

  

* * *

 

 

Bellamy shoots Clarke a text before lunch to find out where she is.

**_Quad?_ **

She texts back quickly.

**_Studio._ **

He doesn’t mind the idea of having some quiet time away from their friends today. On second thought, it’s presumptuous to assume she _wants_ him there. He knows her senior project is going on display tomorrow. She’s worked on it all semester, and she’s understandably nervous about the unveiling.  He starts to type out a text to get a feel for whether she wants company, but she messages him before he can finish.

**_Bring me a salad?_ **

He grins and sends a message back.

**_Sure. Be there soon._ **

He picks up one of the prepackaged spinach salad kits she always gets, with packages of sunflower seeds, dried fruits, and crumbled cheeses. As he heads into the studio, he finds Clarke hunched over a frame with a scowl.

“You alright there?” He asks.

She lifts her head up with a laugh, “The packaging on this thing is stubborn.”

He sets their lunches onto a nearby table. “You want some help?”

“That would be great,” She blows her hair out of her face and stands up straight. It doesn’t take long for Bellamy to dislodge the binding. She huffs, “Of course it takes you ten seconds.” A smile cracks, “Thank you.”

He hands it over with a laugh, “Not a problem.” Then he steps back to the table to unpack their lunch.

Clarke stands up and begins to gather the sheet that covers the canvas. Just before pulling it off, she freezes, like she suddenly remembers she’s not the only one in here. She gives him a glance, then looks back at the covered-up canvas, then back to him again.

“Do you want to see it?”

He can feel the smile stretch across his face when he nods, “Yeah, I do.” He comes up behind her as she pulls the sheet off, letting it billow to the floor, revealing the creation she’s worked so hard on. She steps back, colliding into his chest by accident. She looks apologetic, but before she can step away, he wraps his hand over her elbow and slides it down her arm until he reaches her hand, interlacing their fingers together. The way they’re standing, it would be easy to wrap an arm around her waist and pull her body into his, but he doesn’t. She doesn’t appreciate being forced into anything, and despite the recent physical progression between them, he knows better than to push her now. Not when she’s revealing so much of herself on canvas. Clarke worries her lower lip between her teeth, as if she’s anxious about his critique.

“Clarke, this is-” It’s stunning and he doesn’t even know where to start. He can’t seem to come up with the right words. He knows not to touch it, but he finds his free hand still hovers over the painting. The hands in the middle look so real, he half expects the fingers to move at any moment. They hold a pile of sand, and he sees right away that the tiny scar inside the right wrist matches the one on Clarke’s.

“They’re your hands.” She nods but doesn’t say anything. He points at the figure in the background, “Your dad?”

She clears her throat, “Yeah.”

He nods, “It’s a memory.”

Her fingers tighten around his and he feels something clutch over his heart when she draws his arm across her front to wrap around her. Her free hand comes to his wrist, then slides tentatively up to his elbow, like she’s still unsure if it’s the right thing. He holds her close, feels her chest expand with a deep breath before she relaxes back into him.

“One of the last ones I have with him.” A sentimental smile tugs at her lips and she gestures at the canvas. “He took me there to photograph a sunset over the water… I was fucking around in the sand while he was setting the camera up, kind of off in my own world, and I remember hearing the shutter click.” She laughs, “He never passed up the opportunity to snap a candid. Some of them I hated, but this one-” She drops her head back again, “This one I loved.”

He tightens his arm around her waist, “Candids, huh?” He thinks a moment, “Yeah, I remember seeing a photo of you of the hallways at your house. You were staring off at something, and you just looked… free. You were smiling like I hadn’t seen before.”

Clarke turns her head and tilts to face him, “The one near the stairs?”

Bellamy nods, “Yeah, pretty sure it was by the stairs.”

She smiles, and his breath catches in his throat because he recognizes it from the photograph in question. Radiant and open. Truly content.

She laughs and turns back to the painting, “That was this one.”

“It’s beautiful.” He presses a gentle kiss to her temple, breathes in the flowery scent that clings to her hair from her shampoo. She looks like she might ask him if he’s talking about her painting or the photograph, but seems to know he means both.

After a few more moments, she turns in his arms with an easy hum. “Thank you.”

His lips quirk in a grin as she rises on her toes and kisses him, slow and sweet, her thumb brushing over his cheek before she coaxes his mouth open. He groans at the intoxicating taste of her tongue against his own and his arms tighten their grip around her. Her whole body responds, languidly curving into him. Each moment grows more insistent and next thing he knows, he’s picked her up and dropped her onto a table. Her thighs are strong, her muscles lithe when she wraps them around his waist and squeezes him close.

With one hand, he teases his fingers along the waistband of her shorts, grazing the skin of her lower back the way he knows drives her crazy. His other hand is wrapped up in her hair, tugging back a bit to bare her neck. She already chastised him this morning for the two hickeys she had to cover up from the weekend, so he’s mindful not to make more. Still, the taste of her soft skin under his tongue is addicting.

Clarke winds her fingers into his hair and pulls, _hard,_ and who knew she had that in her already? He chuckles, laving his tongue over her pulse again before she yanks, this time more painfully. _That’s_ when he hears the exaggerated clearing of a throat.

Clarke’s art teacher walks through the door to the studio, eyebrow cocked, and takes a seat at her desk. “You all may think I’m the cool teacher here, but it doesn’t mean you can turn my studio into lover’s lane, Clarke.”

“Sorry, Luna.” Clarke’s skin flushes a deep pink, from her chest to her cheeks as she straightens her posture. Bellamy ducks his head down onto her shoulder with a laugh, because _how the hell did he get that caught up?_

Clarke tugs his hair again and pulls his head up, trying to stifle her own laugh. “Lunch?”

He clears his throat and takes a step back so she can slide off the table. “Yeah, let’s eat.”  He sits in the stool next to Clarke and slides her salad over so she can unwrap the contents. She looks over at Bellamy, then they both glance quickly behind at Luna, who is languorously sorting through a stack of paper, before meeting each other’s gazes again.

She hisses, “I can’t believe a teacher caught us making out…” She shakes her head, “Could we be any more like high school stereotypes right now?”

He snorts, “I can’t believe you _let_ us get caught.”

She gives a mocking gasp, “Oh, it’s my fault?” He takes a bite of his sandwich with a shrug while she rolls her eyes and drizzles dressing over her salad. “Please, enlighten as to how it was my fault?”

“I can’t be expected to pay attention to my surroundings when I’m lost in _you_.” He gestures broadly at her.

Clarke rolls her eyes, “Oh my god, how lame can you possibly be?” He laughs with a shrug and takes a sip of his water. She flings a sunflower seed at him with a grin, “God… Also, I _was_ trying to get your attention. It’s not my fault you misread me trying to rip the hair out of your scalp.”

Bellamy waggles his eyebrows, “Also not my fault. You set a precedent yesterday for hair pulling.” It’s true. She’s fucking into it, and she gives as good as she gets.

She huffs, “ _Precedent_ … there’s the lawyer talk again, Bellamy.” She elbows him, “I think it’s a sign.”

He gives her an uncomfortable laugh, “Yeah, yeah.”

Clarke laughs, “You’ve tarnished my reputation.”

“Your reputation?”

“Well, until today I’d never gotten side eye from a teacher for tainting a desk surface.”

He can’t hold back his bellowing laugh this time, “Tainting? Oh, that’s not _tainted,_ believe me. That’s nothing.”

Clarke stiffens and she gives him a terse smile. “Oh, I believe you…” Her fork stabs into the salad greens and she uses it to gesture toward the outside door. “If _anyone_ knows about desecrating horizontal surfaces, it’s you and what’s-her-name.” She takes a bite and he could swear the temperature in the room just dropped ten degrees.

He straightens up a bit and gives her a sidelong glance. “Okay… What just happened?” That’s a stupid question. He knows what just happened. He managed to invoke the topic of his ex-girlfriend in exactly the wrong context.

Clarke closes her eyes for a minute while she finishes swallowing her food, then huffs a quiet laugh, “What happened is, I just slut-shamed you.”

He chuckles, “You totally did.”

She nods her head with a small smile, “Yep.”

Bellamy grasps his chest in jest, relieved by the quick recovery.

She rolls her eyes and pats his forearm, “Sorry.”

He shrugs, “In your defense, I’m a little ashamed.”

She laughs, “Yeah, you should be. You guys were gross.”

“It’s not the same, though.”

Clarke raises an eyebrow, “Swapping spit? I’m pretty sure the mechanics are the same, no matter who you’re doing it with.”

He shakes his head, “No, I mean, with her, it was PDA on purpose.” He thinks on it for a moment, “Strategic.” It was never heat of the moment with Roma. It was about being seen, gawked at, and admired. And he totally went with it, because he figured he’d be an idiot to turn down the opportunity to make out with the hottest girl in school.

She frowns, “Strategic PDA?”

He shrugs, “Yeah. I guess it was her way of marking territory.”

Clarke nods hesitantly, “Right…” After a moment, “You were definitely doing it wrong.”

He laughs, “Oh yeah?”

“Yeah. You shouldn’t kiss someone to stake claim on them…” She smiles, “You should kiss someone because you _want_ to kiss them.” His eyes drop to her lower lip, where she worries it between her teeth.

He nods, “Yeah.” 

She laughs quietly, “You agree?”

His voice goes a little lower, “That’s a smart policy…” He brings his hand to her face, catches his thumb on the dimple of her chin. “…Kiss someone because you want to kiss them.”

The loud bang of the stapler jars him out of the moment. Luna pipes up, “It’s a fantastic policy. But not in my studio.”

Clarke laughs, “Sorry!”

“Save it for prom, kids…” Luna murmurs while lazily flipping through more paperwork. She looks bored, and Bellamy is pretty sure she’s only here now to keep them from defiling her classroom.

Now would be a perfect opening to tell her. Just slide it on in there - _Hey, funny story, I made a bet with Cage Wallace that I could turn you into prom queen…_ He thinks telling her at lunch might not be the best idea. At least if he waits until after school, he’ll have a better chance and more privacy to explain himself. After school, it is.

Bellamy frowns, “Speaking of… It dawned on me, I haven’t actually _asked_ you.”

“Asked me what?”

“To prom.”

“Oh. Yeah…” She smiles to herself, “No, you haven’t.” She looks up at him and teases, “You’re cutting it kinda close to the buzzer, aren’t you?”

He playfully knocks his knuckle against her elbow, “Maybe.”

She cocks an eyebrow, “What makes you think I don’t already have other plans?” She makes a valid point.

“I’m kind of hoping you don’t.”

“I guess…” She sighs a long breath, “If you really need a date, I could be convinced to go with you.” She lowers her lips to his ear and whispers, “But only if you make it worth my while.”

Her skin jumps under his fingers when he lands a playful pinch on her abdomen and she lets go a squealing laugh while she tries to scramble away from him. She doesn’t put up a fight when he pulls her close.

He turns her to face him, “So, you’ll go with me?”

She smirks, “Yeah, but you’d better put out.”

 

* * *

 

 

Clarke leaves her final class of the day and makes an unhurried trip across the campus to her locker. Bellamy texted her to meet him there because he has something he wants to talk about. She makes an effort not to feel too uneasy about that. But seriously, what the hell couldn’t be at least previewed over a text? He wouldn’t give her an inkling of what it’s about. Just wanted her to meet him by her locker.

She’s sorting through the photo gallery on her phone when Cage sidles up next to her. “So you and Blake…”

Clarke raises an eyebrow, “What about us?”

“You two a thing now?”

Clarke shrugs, uncomfortable with the inquisition and wishing he would find someone else to hassle. “We haven’t exactly defined anything.”

He huffs, “You guys looked pretty cozy this morning.”

“Oh.” Clarke feels a flush of embarrassment crawl up her chest. She should have known someone would see her and Bellamy, but all decorum went to the wayside as soon as his tongue swirled over that spot he _knew_ would make her knees weak.

Cage continues, “I’ve got to hand it to him. As long as I’ve known him, I’ve always pegged him as all talk. I didn’t think he had it in him…” he trails off, clearly baiting her.

Against her better judgment, she bites. “Didn’t think he had _what_ in him?”

He snorts, “Getting physical with his little project… I mean, I know he’ll go to some great lengths to get his way, but-”

“Excuse me?”

He gives her a sympathetic look, “Oh, Clarke.”

She bristles, “Project?”

“Sweetheart, he’s always got a project to work on… You’re just another one of his fucked-up games.” He shakes his head, “I just didn’t realize _how_ fucked up until now.”

She snaps, “What are you fucking talking about?”

“It’s just this stupid bet we made.” He winces, and the gesture is so contrived, Clarke wants to slap him for it. “I admit, I started it. I just didn’t think he’d go through with it.” He sighs, “I probably shouldn’t even be telling you this.”

Her chest pangs with a dismal sense of apprehension. “Just get to the point, Cage.”

He manages to manufacture an expression of guilt, “Alright, fine… He wanted to get back at Roma – You know she humiliated him when she dumped him for that idiot she’s dating now.” Clarke narrows her eyes, ready to call bullshit, but a prick of doubt begins to creep up her ribcage nonetheless. Cage continues, “Bellamy knew she wanted to be prom queen. He wanted to put her in her place, and claimed he could groom any girl here to beat her.” He shrugs, “I told him to put his money where his mouth is, so we bet on it.” He tilts his head, “You were the girl picked.”

Clarke shakes her head, because no… That doesn’t sound like Bellamy. That doesn’t make any sense… A gnawing pain screws through her gut when she gives it a second thought, because it makes perfect fucking sense. A twisted and cruel amount of sense. A dry, bitter laugh heaves from her chest just as Bellamy rounds the corner.

Her face must reveal her queasiness, because his bright smile changes quickly to concern as he makes his way to her. He gives Cage a murderous glare, “What’s going-”

“Was I a bet?” She cuts him off, because this isn’t something she feels like drawing out. Either Cage is telling the truth, or he isn’t. Bellamy freezes in place, like he isn’t sure of the question. She asks again, the words nearly sticking in her throat. “Was I a fucking bet?!” The rush of blood in her ears is deafening. She’s overwhelmed by a cutting sense of anguish as she feels herself being cracked open, helpless to do anything about it.

Each second without a response stretches into agony. Bellamy’s mouth opens and closes while he fails to formulate a response, and her stomach drops because, _oh god,_ it’s fucking true.

Finally, “Clarke-” He reaches a hand out as if to steady her.

“Don’t!” She backs away from him, her gaze fixed on his hand where it’s suspended in the air. A hand that just hours ago, was tangled in her hair while his other one worked her into a trembling mess. Regret churns through her, and she swears her scalp stings with embarrassment, thinking of the little tug he gave to draw her head back while he dragged his lips over her jawline. She slaps her hand to her neck, like maybe she can wipe away the memory of his breath on her skin. A stubborn ache builds deep in her chest and she blinks to try and rid herself of the persistent sting behind her eyes. Her gaze snaps to his and she vaguely registers the regret in his eyes before she steels herself. “Don’t fucking touch me!” She snaps, startling even herself with the force of her yell.

Clarke retreats, nearly tripping over her own feet as she spins around and makes a beeline for the parking lot. She hears something slam into the lockers behind her but pays it no mind as she digs her hands into her pockets for her car key.  She pulls it out, and hates, _hates_ how much her hands shake as she jams her thumb against the button. Once in, she closes and locks the door. With a shuddering breath, she presses her palms against her eyelids, refusing to let tears fall. Not here. Not for them to see. The engine turns over and she takes a deep, cleansing breath. Pushing her sunglasses up on her nose, she shifts into drive and pulls out of the already-empty lot. She considers driving to the beach, but it’s at least an hour’s drive from here, and traffic will be making that even worse, soon. So, she heads farther inland to a place she and her mom used to take walks.

She pulls into a parking spot on the far end of the stretch of crumbling asphalt and turns the car off. When she steps out, she can hear the soft noises under the hood as the car settles itself. She takes a deep breath of the fresh air, reminding herself that there’s more to life, and certainly more to come, than the trivial shit that plagues her right now.

She makes her way to the scenic overlook, concentrating on the sound of the gravel that crunches under the soles of her shoes as she walks. If she focuses on that, she gives her mind time to rebuild the walls she so carelessly let him take down. How the fuck could she have been so naïve? She shakes her head, trying to dislodge word _project_ from her mind, but nothing will drown out Cage’s contrived sympathies playing on loop, _“Oh, Clarke… just another one of his fucked-up games… His little project… fucked up little project…”_

Because of course that’s what all of this was. A challenge. A much-needed distraction from what she’s sure are stressful life factors that she can’t find in herself to give a single fuck about anymore.

 _He isn’t worth her tears_. She repeats it like a mantra, enough times that she almost believes it. 

Her phone chimes, so she turns the screen over to find a text message. Her finger hovers over the bubble for a solid minute before she finally taps it.

**_I’m sorry_ **

Despite her best efforts, her tears burn a searing trail down her cheeks while she taps out a response before turning the phone off.

**_Go to hell, Bellamy_ **

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welp… We all knew it was coming. Had to get that last cute bit of fluff in before showering everyone with angst. 
> 
> You guys seemed to appreciate last chapter, which pleased me greatly :) As always, thank you guys so much for your **COMMENTS** and **KUDOS**. They give me life! It’s always really motivating to hear back from you guys! Like I said above, a lot of life got in the way over the past few days… It happens. 
> 
> Thank you guys so much for reading!!!
> 
> I'm on [tumblr](http://missemarissa.tumblr.com) (@missemarissa)!

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first foray into a High School AU. It’s a change of pace for me, but I found it to be an enjoyable project. _She’s All That_ is like, super nostalgic for me, so I jumped on this prompt. 
> 
> I’ll be posting weekly, aiming for Mondays (depending on reception – certain days of the week get more traffic than others). The fic is pretty much completely written, so I’m pleased to say this won’t be an eternal WIP. So, yay! Guaranteed steady output! It’s been a long while since that’s been A Thing™ for me, so that’s something I’m looking forward to. 
> 
> I haven’t forgotten my other fics. In fact, since this one will be updating regularly, my muse is preemptively kicking in. A chapter of [ pornstar!Bellamy](http://archiveofourown.org/works/4890298) should be ready soon ;) 
> 
> To say COMMENTS ARE WELCOME is a severe understatement. They fuckin’ give me life. Interacting with you guys is one of my favorite things about writing fanfic :) Even just a few words telling me what you think, what you like, maybe even a favorite line? I cherish them all. You guys know, I try to respond to all of them, and since I’ll be posting regularly, I’ll be way more on-the-ball with replies. 
> 
> KUDOS make me smile. So, if you’re enjoying this, click that button! 
> 
> Last but certainly not least, **THANK YOU for reading!**


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